


Call Me Freedom

by bad_peppermint



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Sports, Big Bang Challenge, Homophobia, M/M, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 59,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bad_peppermint/pseuds/bad_peppermint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen spends all year looking forward to summer, his own version of heaven: Two months of nothing but soccer, Jared, and soccer. The South Coast Summer Soccer Championships are his best chance to be recruited professionally once he graduates from high school, but this time, real life encroaches on his sanctuary. In the picture perfect confines of John Hart Academy, during the hottest summer in Texan history, Jensen tries to come to terms with his fellow players, his new position as captain of his team, and his confused sexuality. And then Jared kisses him. Struggling to make things work with his best friend turned boyfriend and his unaccepting teammates, Jensen is beginning to think that winning the Championships might turn out to be impossible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by an article I once read that pointed out that statistically, at least one player per professional team should be gay - and yet I can't name a single one (YouTube ref notwithstanding). I should point out, however, that I am not that knowledgeable about soccer, and that English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes that might pop up along the way.  
> Additionally, I would never have gotten this far without my army of lovely and talented betas:  
> brothersinister (wherever you are, darling, I hope you're doing alright), mrs_gregsanders, kaimore , and motherrussia91 . You were all of you lovely and so very helpful. I could not have done it without you. <3

After four hours in the artificially cooled van, the heat hits Jensen like a brick wall. He draws in a sharp breath that feels like it singes the insides of his lungs and coughs. Freaking Texas in freaking June.

He starts when someone slaps a hand between his shoulder blades. Chris nods at him from underneath the brim of his brown Stetson. His white t-shirt is uncomfortably bright in the glaring sunlight, and Jensen squints.

“Glad you came, eh?” Chris says with a quick smile.

Jensen grins back humorlessly. Moisture already begins to bead at his hairline, right at the edge of his Cowboys cap, and at the back of his neck. He still can’t believe he traded the hammock in his momma’s back yard for several hours in a van full of sweaty armpits and smelly feet.

But, if he’s honest, and he usually is, even that prospect is never enough to keep him away. Jensen loves the South Coast Summer Soccer Championships, or SCSSC’s – it’s two months of straight-up soccer for one. No other classes, no family, no digging around in the backyard helping his mother plant begonias. Not that Jensen cares about that. His mom is great. He doesn’t mind helping out when she asks him to. It’s just that he sometimes wishes she wouldn’t enlist his help when a Chelsea match is on.

He lifts up the cover of his messenger bag and gets out his camcorder. The thing is expensive – Jensen mowed lawns for the neighbors for a year and a half before he’d finally saved up enough – but he’s never regretted it. Filming is, besides soccer, his favorite thing in the world.

He flips the camera on and trains it on the familiar surroundings. It’s his third summer at John Hart Academy, an expensive looking private school surrounded by artificially green lawns and fields. He feels bad for the poor suckers who actually go to school here, in these posh, stuffy buildings with the only getaway three houses and a corner store two miles down the road. But for the summer, roaming around the empty school with the guys, Hart is pretty amazing. They have an almost brand new blacktop to play basketball on, a cafeteria that has food almost as good as what he gets back home, and, oh, just _the best soccer field this side of Austin_. 

And they can use it with practically no fees.

He lets the camera swing away from the imposing double doors when the other van, white with a maroon East Austin High logo on the side, pulls up next to him.

“Jenny!” Strait calls from the passenger seat. He looks like a model, as usual, all slick hair and designer t-shirt, but his smile isn’t very nice. And now Jensen has the hated nickname on film. Great.

Tips of his ears burning, he zooms in on the back door just as it starts to slide open.

Mike covers the camera with his hand as he climbs out of the van, slapping the other one down on his shoulder. (“I swear you even film yourself taking a dump, Ackles.”) Jensen wrenches the camera away, laughing, before focusing on the next arrival. He starts at the battered sneakers, the frayed edges of his jeans, and slowly works his way upwards, past the humongous belt buckle and up the dark blue polo shirt until he gets to Jared’s face-splitting grin. He stands on the bottom step, soccer ball in one hand and the other holding his backpack slung over his shoulder. He blows his hair out of his face and strikes a pose.

Someone behind him snaps, “Get a move on, Paddywhack,” and pushes him forward. Jared stumbles towards Jensen, drops everything and hoists him up by the waist, whirling him around. Jensen’s cap goes flying and his camera records a whirl of grey and green and white stripes, but he’s grinning, too, when Jared sets him down. Jared even fetches his cap for him and brushes it off before he carefully pulls it into place over Jensen’s hair.

Jensen grins. He knows he probably sounds incredibly gay, but everything is better with Jared around. Easier. Getting his cap dusty isn’t an issue. Even the heat doesn’t bother him all that much anymore.

“Good trip?” Jared asks him. They’re pretty much standing toe to toe at this point, and there’s no way Jensen can miss Jared’s satisfied smile when he nods.

“Aside from Penn having Mexican for dinner last night,” Jensen says meaningfully.

Jared scrunches up his face in disgust but can’t help laughing at the same time, meaning he ends up snuffling like a dying pig, and Jensen can’t stop the laugh bubbling up at the sound. When Jared treats him to a daringly raised eyebrow, he nudges Jared’s shoulder. “Were you awake for any of yours?”

Jared shrugs. “The first twenty minutes or so. I woke up when we pulled up to the rest stop though.”

“That must’ve been exciting,” Jensen says.

“They had jelly bellies,” Jared says defensively.

“Oh. Well in that case…” Jensen mocks.

Jared rolls his eyes and solemnly presses his forefinger into Jensen’s nose.

Jensen manages to keep his face straight for three whole seconds before he starts laughing, and Jared smiles, going a little soft around the edges, and knocks his shoulder into Jensen’s.

“Jensen, come get your bag,” Justin calls from the back door of his van.

Jensen glances over at Jared who nods him towards Justin and winks at him before wandering off to collect his own things.

Jensen didn’t bring much. His training gear, of course, which has accumulated over the years, but other than that just a couple of jeans, shorts and t-shirts. Mostly it’s stuff he’s owned for a while and a couple of hand-me-downs from Josh. People like Strait and Hayden usually roll up with an entire wardrobe, but that’s kind of difficult when you don’t really own that much. Jensen vowed a long time ago that he’s not going to waste his mother’s precious money on clothes. So yeah, he shops at Target and outlet stores, and sometimes he gets teased about it, but it’s not like he really _needs_ anything nicer.

He takes his bag from Justin and starts wandering over to the small huddle of his team members where their coach is flipping through paperwork. More than a few people, sleep-creased and wrinkled, wince when Morgan whistles sharply. He gestures them closer with his clipboard. “Gather round, boys,” he says.

It takes a few moments for everyone to shuffle into a loose circle. Justin prods at the last few stragglers and then they’re all paying attention to their coach, more or less awake.

“Alright,” Morgan says. “Once again, we made it to Hart without casualties. I’m proud of you all.”

His sarcastic tone gets lost in Mike’s overenthusiastic “Go Team!” but he smiles approvingly when Justin whaps Mike on the back of the head.

“Great,” he says toothily. “Dinner is at six. Newbies, if you get lost, follow the signs that say ‘Dining Hall.’ Or one of your more experienced team members, if you’re willing to put your lives in their hands.”

He glares in Chris’ and Steve’s direction, who happily blow him some kisses. Morgan ignores it. “That’s it for today. I know you’re all very tired and will go to bed immediately and not run around like headless chickens all night,” he says pointedly.

A couple of people laugh.

“Yeah, right,” PJ mutters by Jensen’s ear.

“Bear in mind,” Morgan says, letting his voice carry, “that the usual curfew rules apply just as always.” He nods at his assistant. “Justin has your housing assignments, so follow him; he’ll unlock your rooms for you.”

It’s a strange procession that follows Justin into the entrance hall and up a flight of stairs into the dormitory wing: fourteen slowly shuffling teenagers loaded with duffle bags and backpacks, eyes closed to slits, stopping only when Justin stops.

They lose Zac and Dan right by the staircase, then Penn and Chase, and Adam and Paul. Justin stops between another two opposing doors and points to the one on their left. “Julian, Khleo, this is you.” He takes a few steps and unlocks the other one. “Jared, Jensen, you guys are in here.”

“Same thing as every night, Pinkie,” Jensen hears Mike mutter, and he blushes.

He lets Jared go in first, waiting for Justin to remind them that dinner is in an hour and a half before he shuffles inside and closes the door. Jared has already flopped facedown onto his mattress and only groans weakly when Jensen asks him if he’s alright.

Jensen sits down on his own bed, the one farther away from their little private bathroom, and watches Jared for a moment. Then he get out his camera again – he’d packed it away for their little march down the halls – and zooms in on the slow rise and fall of Jared’s torso.

Dinner is a quiet affair. Everybody’s pretty beat from traveling and the small tables that hold groups of four each are all pretty subdued. Jensen sits at a table with Mike and Tom, waiting for the line at the buffet to shrink a little bit, but even Mike isn’t his usual chatty self.

Jared sits down in the last free chair with a groan, a plate loaded with pizza slices in each hand. Jensen would roll his eyes at him, but he’s gotten used to Jared’s insane appetite over the years. Plus, Jensen may not have the stomach of an elephant, but he’s still a teenager. After an intense match, a large pepperoni pizza is nothing.

Mike pushes himself upright. “I’ma get food,” he says. “Jensen, you want?”

Jensen nods and watches Mike amble off, Tom in tow. Next to him, Jared has already polished off the first slice and started in on the second. There’s a greasy stain on his chin, but he doesn’t even seem to notice, he’s so focused on his food. Anyone else would look ridiculous like that. Jared just looks adorable.

Jensen opens his mouth to say something about it and then shuts it again. He nudges Jared’s elbow with his own and Jared grins at him, teeth stained with tomato sauce.

Jensen? Jensen can’t help but smile back.

The light outside is starting to fade when they finally make it back to their rooms. Jared immediately strips down to his t-shirt and boxers while Jensen goes to take out his contacts and brush his teeth. He does a shamefully halfhearted job of it, spits once, and stretches out on top of his own bed.

Jared lets his head slump onto his pillow. “Ah, the joys of a school for rich fuckers,” he says.

“They’re nice enough to let us use their soccer field,” Jensen feels obliged to point out. “And it’s probably their parents that are paying tuition.”

“So it’s a school for the kids of rich fuckers. Like, Son of Richguy.” Jared lets his head loll over to give Jensen a look. “And don’t tell me anything about scholarships and full rides, okay? I don’t want to know.”

“I just think we should appreciate their generosity,” Jensen says.

Jared rolls his eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause this is totally more than a drop in the bucket for them.”

When Jensen frowns a little, Jared sighs. “They have their own bathrooms, _and_ showers down in the gym.”

“Shared bathrooms,” Jensen points out.

“Yeah, with like, one other dude.” Jared shakes his head. “I share a bathroom with my twelve-year-old sister. This doesn’t even begin to compare.”

Jensen laughs even though the comment reminds him of Mac and how long it’s been since he’s spoken to her, making his smile turn a little rueful. “I guess we do have it pretty good,” he says.

Jared breathes a satisfied sigh and lets his eyes flutter shut. “That we do, man,” he says.

Jensen can’t help his giant yawn in reply. “I can’t believe I’m so fucking tired,” he says,

Jared grunts. “You wanna get it?” he asks.

Jensen doesn’t, not really, but he still drags his carcass off the bed and reaches for the light switch before he turns and allows himself to face plant into the comforter.

“Thanks,” Jared says.

“Sure.” Jensen tears at one corner of the blanket until it comes loose from where it’s tucked underneath the mattress and wriggles underneath. “’Night, Jay.”

“Good night,” Jared replies, sleepy enough to fall back on the old-school manners his parents like so much. They’re really sweet people, of course (anybody related to Jared kind of has to be, Jensen thinks, or the world would fall apart, or something) but the one time Jensen went over to Jared’s house for dinner, he thought all the “yes sir’s” and “no Ma’am’s” and “So kind of you’s” were going to come out of his ears.

Jared is quiet for so long Jensen starts to suspect he’s fallen asleep, even without the telltale snuffling of a Jared halfway to dreamland, when Jared stirs again. 

“Hey, Jen,” he says quietly.

Jensen lifts his head.

Jared’s expression softens into something warm and undecipherable. “I’ve missed you,” he says.

“Me too,” Jensen agrees. He buries his head in the pillow, breathes in the scent of freshly-washed cotton and revels in the fuzzy feeling of being exactly where he wants to be.

It’s not even quarter to eight – Jensen’s LED alarm clock keeps him well informed – when people start whispering in front of their door. He groans into his pillow and prays to God they’ll go away, but instead their hushed conversation just gets louder and merrier. Finally, when he can almost make out whatever the hell they’re planning, there’s abruptly silence and then a quiet knock. He untangles himself from the bedding, snags his glasses from the bedside table and stumbles over to the door.

“What the hell, guys?” he says even before he recognizes Mike and Tom standing in the hallway with matching expressions of mischief on their faces.

“Hey,” Mike whispers and shoves a paper cup of ice cubes into his hand. When Jensen just stares at him blankly, he rolls his eyes and motions towards the sleeping giant in the other bed.

Jensen rubs at his eyes with his free hand. “Wuh?” he manages.

Mike rolls his eyes again, more extensively this time. He jabs two fingers at Jensen, no, at the cup he’s still holding, then at Jared, then at Tom, himself, and then mimes something that looks like a roller coaster gone horrible wrong, and ends with an expectant look.

“Pretend it’s like, eight in the morning and I have no idea what you just said,” Jensen whispers. He glances over his shoulder at Jared, but the guy just snuggles deeper into his cushions with a sleepy sound of protest.

Scowling, Mike takes Jensen by the collar of his t-shirt and pulls him in close. “You,” he whispers, “are going to take an ice cube or two and slowly insert it into the back of Jared’s shirt. And then we sit back and watch the carnage.”

Jensen hands the cup back. “I don’t want to die yet,” he replies, equally quiet.

“Pussy,” Mike hisses. He nudges Tom. “You gonna show him how _real_ Texas boys do these things?”

Tom folds his fingers over the rim of the cup, but he gives Mike a long look before he actually takes it. “If you think you’re getting out of the ass-kicking Jared’s gonna dole out, you are sorely mistaken.”

Mike pulls out the puppy eyes in reply. “Would I do that to you?”

“Yes,” Tom says.

Mike pouts but doesn’t even try to deny it, and Tom, shaking his head, shuffles over to Jared’s bed.

“Wait,” Jensen hisses. He yanks on his jeans from yesterday and fastens them quickly before he gets his camera out of its case. With the red signal blinking, Jensen bites his lip when Tom carefully fishes an ice-cube out of the cup. He can’t believe he’s actually letting this happen. He should wake Jared up, warn him, or something. Not just stand there and stare at the screen of his camera in horrified fascination.

Beside him, Mike does a gleeful little dance. Tom glares at him before he sneaks his finger underneath the collar of Jared’s t-shirt and eases it away from his skin with the precision of a surgeon. He sets the cup of ice cubes down on Jared’s bedside table and fishes one out. With a grimace, he reaches his fingers down Jared’s shirt as far as they will go (and considering the general size of Tom, that’s kind of far), lets go, and takes a step back.

For a moment, nothing really happens. Then Jared twitches and moans. Mike clamps a hand over his mouth. Jensen wishes he could do the same, but he wants both hands free to protect the camera that is about to record the coming disaster.

Jared bolts upright with an entirely unmanly shriek. He shimmies all over the bed in an attempt to reach his back, contorting himself into positions that would make even Linda Blair proud. He doesn’t even seem to notice Tom and Mike laughing their asses off, and Jensen bites his lip so he doesn’t start chuckling as well.

They’re still giggling hysterically when Jared finally gets his fingers around the half-melted ice-cube and stares at it in disbelief. “What the hell, guys,” he says.

“You don’t like our present?” Mike asks innocently.

“What do you think?” Jared retorts, sarcasm dripping from every word, and Mike shrugs.

“Free alarm clock, what’s not to like?” he says.

“You’re unbelievable,” Jared says. “You better start running now.” And of course that’s when he notices the camcorder. “Oh my God, Jensen,” he snaps, tossing his pillow and him and nearly knocking the camera out of his hand. “You are so completely dead!”

Jensen takes a hasty step backwards, but Jared focuses his glare on the quietly snickering duo by the door.

“You two,” he points his index finger at them, “had better beat it before I get out of bed.”

“Oh no, Bigfoot is coming!” Mike gripes, but when Jared merely swings his legs onto the floor, they turn tail and flee.

Jensen almost calls “Cowards” after them, but he’s not sure drawing attention to himself is really a good idea at this point.

He carefully zips his camera back into its case when Jared dashes past him with the cup of ice cubes in his hand, weighing the possibility of it getting damaged more important than what could be prime movie material, before he pads out into the hall. Khleo and Julian are standing in their open door across the way, following the mad pursuit from the safety of their room.

Jensen gives them a nod and follows the noise to the bottom of the stairs. The cup of ice cubes lies half-spilled and abandoned on the marble tiles of the entrance hall. Tom managed to get away, apparently, but Mike is currently in Jared’s stranglehold, getting a harsh scalp massage.

“Knock it off!” Mike demands shrilly. “Why aren’t you beating on Jensen?”

“Hey!” Jensen says, because what the fuck, but Jared doesn’t even look his way.

“’Cause it was totally Jensen’s idea,” he says.

Jensen isn’t sure if he’s offended that Jared doesn’t think he’s capable of coming up with such a lame prank or happy that Jared knows him so well, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“It could have been,” Mike says in his stead.

“Possible, but highly unlikely,” Jared says, and noogies Mike some more.

“Fine, uncle, whatevs,” Mike finally says.

Jared digs his knuckles in one last time before he lets go. “You sure you wanna start this prank shit again?” he asks. “’Cause as far as I remember it, Jen and I pretty much killed you last year.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mike mutters and messes with his practically nonexistent hair. “You totally cheated, is what you did.”

“Sure,” Jared says. He picks up the cup with the ice cubes and glances back over his shoulder. “Oh, Jensen,” he sing-songs, and Jensen runs like hell.

When Jensen is done shaking the ice from his shirt and Jared wearing more than a t-shirt and boxers, they finally head towards the dining hall for breakfast.

“I can’t believe you let them do that to me,” Jared grouses on the way. “Even my parents were never that sadistic.”

Jensen shrugs. “I got some great footage out of it.”

“You bastard,” Jared says, but he sounds more affectionate than upset.

Jensen stops walking anyway, lays a hand on Jared’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he says earnestly. “I know I shouldn’t have valued a prank over you.”

He’s barely closed his mouth when Jared reaches down and wraps him up in a hug. “It’s okay,” he says into Jensen’s hair. “I’m just teasing, okay? I bet I’m gonna laugh my ass off when I see the video.”

Justin ambles past, a liberated cafeteria mug with what smells strongly like coffee in each hand, and gives them a level look. “Be on the field in twenty minutes, guys,” he warns.

“Yes, sir, Assistant Coach,” Jared says with a crisp salute, and Justin rolls his eyes.

They stop in the cafeteria long enough for Jensen to sneak a cup of coffee and Jared to wolf down a plate of sausages and eggs before they wander back to their room to change. Jared smothers his face in toothpaste while Jensen puts his contacts in, and when Jensen takes over at the sink, he flops down on his bed.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Jensen warns.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jared stretches his arms above his head, flashing a line of brown skin, and yawns. He lowers himself off the bed in slow motion and finds a pair of shorts somewhere. Jensen has to dance around him when he stops right in front of the bathroom door to wedge his feet into his vans.

While Jared’s taking a piss in the bathroom, Jensen shucks his jeans and pulls on a pair of running shorts instead. Cleats in hand, he waits by the door while Jared fumbles his way through the mess on his bedside table to find a hair band. His mop is just barely long enough to form an inch-long ponytail at the back of his head. Of course, that means that the front is still free to fall merrily into his eyes.

He glares at Jensen even though Jensen never even opened his mouth. “Don’t say it,” he warns.

“Say what?” Jensen asks innocently. “That you look like a girl?”

“Yes, that,” Jared says venomously. He snags his cleats from under the bed and follows Jensen down the hallway, taking care to shove him into a water fountain on the way.

It’s already hot out.

They’re among the first ones out on the field – only the freshman are sprawled out on the grass while Justin is going through equipment a few feet away – and Morgan’s face is already dark and foreboding.

“Ackles, Padalecki. Barely on time,” he snarls, but Jensen is pretty sure he’s not actually serious.

“But on time,” Jared points out. He flops down on the ground at Morgan’s feet and smiles brightly up at the man. “How are you this awesome morning?” he asks.

Justin makes a quick cameo to press a cup of coffee into Morgan’s hand. The coach takes a deep gulp and savors it for a moment, eyes closed. “Much better now,” he says. “I heard you took it upon yourself to get everyone out of bed early this morning?”

“Yeah.” Jared smiles widely. “Thought you’d appreciate it.”

“As long as no one calls the police, I couldn’t care less what you do,” Morgan tells him.

“He’s lying,” Justin mouths behind him, and Jensen has to clamp down on a chuckle.

“What’d we miss?” Mike asks, coming up behind them with Tom in tow. There’s a steady trickle of people after that, and before long, all fourteen of them are gathered in a loose semi-circle at Morgan’s feet. Chris and Steve are the last to show up, to no one’s surprise, and Morgan tilts his imaginary hat at them.

“Thanks for joining us,” he tells them, and Chris smiles sunnily underneath his ever-present Stetson.

Morgan rolls his eyes. “Alright, everyone. Welcome back to another summer of South Coast Championships. I’m glad everyone could make it.” He holds up a finger. “First off, some housekeeping. I doubt anybody’s surprised, but…” He throws a glance and a wink in Jensen’s direction. “…our new team captain is Jensen.”

A few people clap, Jared wolf-whistles to the delight of the rest of the team, Mike claps his hand down on Jensen’s shoulder. As far as congratulations goes, it’s all pretty tame, but Jensen still wishes he could sink into the ground and disappear. He can’t stand him when Morgan puts him in the spotlight like that.

Morgan hands him the armband, and Jensen quietly, reverently, slides it up his forearm. It’s not the nice one, of course, not the one he’ll wear during games. It’s nothing more than a glorified sweatband to signify his status and get him used to the additional weight on his arm, but it feels good. Rewarding, somehow. Like all those hours spent passing balls back and forth until his feet were sore, were worth it. He lets his fingers linger on the fabric for a moment. He can’t wait to tell his mom about this.

When he looks up again, Morgan gives him a private little smile. Then he cuts a glance at Chris and Steve. “In other news, I’m sure we’re all very glad that our favorite seniors decided to join us for another semester.”

A few people laugh.

Chris smirks. “We just can’t bear to part with you, Coach,” he says. “Our lives would be miserable without you.”

Morgan rolls his eyes. “I will personally make your life miserable if you don’t lose the hat, Kane,” he says.

Chris smirks but tilts the hat off his head. Jensen can hear him mumble, “Anything for you, coach,” under his breath. The general attention quickly returns to the coach, but Jensen watches Chris a moment longer, until Chris sees him looking and throws him a wink. They’ve been friends ever since that fateful day that Steve from next door and his friend Chris – big boys, in fourth grade already and a whole year older than Jensen – kicked their soccer ball underneath Jensen’s porch. Jensen abandoned his lonely game of Super Street Fighter II Turbo to get it for them, and, encouraged by their calls of, “Kick it back, kid,” sailed it past both pairs of agile feet and the two empty paint buckets that marked the goal. After that, it had been a matter of hours before Jensen suddenly had not only friends but also a hobby. His parents had found both equally hard to believe.

They’re still friends now, even though Steve and Chris are pretty much Jensen’s polar opposites. They both smoke and regularly ditch practice to go play unpaid gigs in seedy venues. In fact, the only reason they’re still both allowed to play in the SCSSCs is because they blew off one of their finals to go play at a street festival across town and flunked the class, and have to take it again in the fall to make up for it. But they’re also loyal and protective and the best friends Jensen has, aside from Jared, so he forgives them for not taking the team as seriously as he does.

A shrill whistle yanks Jensen back into the present and to Morgan’s sadistic habits.

The coach grins down at the lot of them. “So. The first school we’ll be playing is MLH. The game is two weeks from now, on Saturday. You’ll all be relieved to hear that they’ll be coming down here and we will _not_ have to drive the eight hours up there.”

Jensen isn’t the only one who smiles at the news. Michael Lordan High is in the middle of nowhere, their food sucks, and the field they play on is always way too damp. James Lafferty tore two ligaments in his knee there last summer and had to quit the team for good.

Morgan snaps his fingers to get them focused again. “I know you’re all thinking that playing the Beavers will be easy as pie-“

“That’s cause they play like pussies,” Hayden throws in, and everyone except Julian bursts into startled laughter. Morgan’s face doesn’t lose its serious expression, but Jensen thinks he sees the corners of his mouth twitch.

“I don’t get it,” Julian says.

“I’m sure your teammates will be willing to explain it. Later,” Morgan says. “I’m aware you’re all tempted to underestimate the MLH team, but they’ve recruited a number of talented freshmen and stepped up their training regimen, so we will _not_ be slacking off.”

A collective groan answers him. Army boot camp is _nothing_ compared to two weeks of training with Morgan on a mission.

The man in question glances down at his notepad. “Provided you lot get your act together, we’ll be playing the next team two weeks after MLH, then one two weeks after that, and semi-finals two weeks after that. Third place will be decided one week later, and then the finale is a week after that.”

He winks at Jensen, who seems to be the only one whose eyes haven’t glazed over. “That means that you’ll have three weeks to be fat and lazy before I have you back in my clutches.”

“At least,” Justin throws in.

Coach points a finger at him. “Precisely. As always, we’ll be going home the day after our last game.” He turns around to give them all a quelling look. “That means that, if you screw up against the Beavers, this will be the shortest soccer summer camp in the history of East Austin High, which will be extremely humiliating for all of you. No pressure.”

He signals Justin to pass him a large white notepad and hunkers down in the middle of their circle. “Now, he says, “down to business. I’ve made some changes in the formation. Most of you are going to keep doing what you’re doing, but there’ve been some adjustments, so if you’d all huddle up for a moment…”

Mike throws himself down in the chair across from Jensen and groans theatrically. “I’m dying,” he says. When he gets no reply, he blinks his eyes open and peers at him. “Didn’t you hear me?” he asks. “I’m _dying_.”

Jared glances from Mike to Jensen and laughs. “Don’t mind him,” he says, reaching up to pat Jensen’s shoulder. “I think Coach broke him.”

Jensen shakes his head to clear it. It is so blissfully cool in the dining hall that he completely zoned out the minute he sat down to wait for lunch to be brought out. Now he remembers that his thighs ache and his neck prickles, probably lobster red by now. He reaches for his glass of water and turns to Jared. “I think we should move to Antarctica,” he says. He takes a long gulp of water, stopping only when the ice cubes press against his lips. When he puts the glass down, Jared pushes his own over.

“We can do that,” he agrees easily. “A couple more years of global warming, and we can get a pool put in.”

Jensen buries his head in his hands. He looks up when Tom sits down in the last empty seat at their table, neck and arms glistening with moisture. “This may be the first time I was okay with the fact that the locker room showers here only have cold water,” he says.

Mike grins ruefully. “Remind me why I’m doing this to myself again?”

“Because you love it,” Jared says. He reaches over and lets his hand rest on the back of Jensen’s neck. “You okay, man?” he asks quietly.

Jensen groans at the feel of Jared’s fingers, ice-cold and damp from being wrapped around his condensation-covered glass, against his heated skin. “I’m fine,” he says after a moment. “Not sure how I’ll handle another three hours of this, but I’ll be fine.”

“I believe in you,” Jared says with a grin.

“You’re an idiot,” Jensen retorts, but with the way Jared’s smiling at him, he can’t really say he means it.

If anything, the drills Morgan puts them through after lunch are even more painful than the ones before. Jensen’s starting to suspect that his toned runner’s legs have secretly been exchanged for jelly-filled ones, and Morgan’s definitely not one to show mercy. Over and over, they do push-ups, sprint all over the field in the craziest formations, and try to outwit each other feinting left and right. They haven’t touched a ball since this morning and Jensen still feels like he’s just gone through an extra-heavy spin cycle.

At least he’s not the only one. Once Morgan declares them done for the day half the team practically runs from the field. The other half follows at snail pace, too exhausted to do more than shuffle along. Jensen’s somewhere in between, getting to the locker room when it’s about half-full. He sits down and groans, fumbling with the laces of his cleats, but he can still hear Strait whisper to Chase, “How did such a wimp ever get to be our captain?”

Apparently Jensen’s not the only one who’s heard it, because the noise level in the room immediately plummets. Even Strait notices. “What?” he asks without meeting Jensen’s eyes. “You don’t think it’s ridiculous how he can barely even walk after a single day of work-outs?”

Jensen tries not to curl up into a ball and die. His face feels flaming red. At least Jared isn’t here, because he’d probably beat Strait to a pulp and then feel horrible after.

“Will you put a sock in it already?” Chris calls over. “Blablabla, you guys are awesome, everybody else sucks, we’ve heard it all and _we don’t care_. There’s a reason Jensen is team captain and not you, you know?”

Strait scowls and mutters something under his breath, probably something about what Jensen _really_ did to get the armband, but he’s wise enough not to say it out loud.

Jensen avoids Chris and Steve after dinner. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate their protectiveness, it’s part of why he likes hanging out with them, but sometimes he just wishes they’d be a bit more… subtle. He’s not mad or embarrassed or anything. He just doesn’t want them to go on some epic rant about Strait (again), doesn’t want to hear it, that’s all, so he keeps his distance for a little bit.

Jared sticks close, of course, so somehow they end up in one of the hallways, one with armchairs and couches off to the side, talking to PJ, Penn and Adam.

PJ lies sprawled out sideways on one of the chairs, jeans button undone over his little potbelly. Sometimes the way he can shovel food into his mouth puts even Jared to shame. “Wish my old lady could cook this good,” he moans, patting his inflated belly.

“This is better than your momma’s cooking?” Jared asks dubiously.

PJ gives him a look. “My momma burns salad,” he says.

“I don’t know why you’re pretending to care,” Adam throws in from behind the newest issue of _Ultimate Spiderman_ , one with – surprise! – Spidey and a barely dressed blonde bombshell on the cover. “You’d eat anything.”

“That’s a lie, man,” PJ says. He twists his head around to glare at him. “Total lie.”

Jared reaches over to nudge Jensen and share a grin before they both settle more comfortably into their seats to enjoy the show.

Adam rests his comic book on his stomach. “You eat cockroaches,” he says.

“That was in kindergarten,” PJ protests.

“You ate a raw oyster in seventh grade biology,” Penn, the last of their little round, chips in.

“Got twenty dollars for it, too,” PJ says, more proud than anything.

“That’s kinda gross,” Jensen says before he can stop himself, and earns himself a round of eye-rolls.

“You’re a girl,” Adam says, all matter-of-fact, and of course, that’s when Jensen’s phone rings. He digs it out of his pocket, bright red, and flips it the right side up. _Mom,_ the display reads. Jensen untangles himself from Jared’s legs and stands. “I gotta take this,” he says.

“Oh, is that your mommy calling?” Adam asks with a syrupy smile on his face.

Jensen flushes bright red, of course, but the most intelligent comeback he can come up with is a scowl.

“Leave him be, Adam,” Jared says.

“What are you, his babysitter?” PJ rolls his eyes. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t? Pout at me?”

“Maybe.” Jared plasters an evil smirk on his face. “Or maybe I’ll just tell everyone where you hid your teddy bear.”

That’s bullshit, of course – no one is suicidal enough to take a stuffed animal to a camp full of high school age guys, but everybody jeers and laughs anyway, and Jensen can slip away to take his phone call unnoticed.

He rounds the first corner and flips his phone open. “Hi momma,” he says. Despite PJ’s teasing, it feels good to hear from her. He doesn’t like the thought of her all alone without him.

“Hi baby,” his mother says. “Is this a bad time? I can call back later if you want.”

“It’s fine,” Jensen says quickly, before she can hang up. “We’re done for the day.”

“That’s good to hear,” she says. “Did you get settled in alright?”

“Uh-huh,” Jensen says. He texted her the night before to tell her exactly that, of course, but it’s not the same as actually saying it. “It’s been great so far.” He bites his lip. “I made captain,” he adds.

“Oh honey, that’s great,” she immediately gushes. The proud note in her voice makes Jensen stand up a little straighter. “Not that it’s a surprise, of course, but that’s great.”

“It’s not like anything was decided,” Jensen says quickly. There had been a fairly high possibility, of course, especially with all the hints Coach kept dropping at practice, but he hadn’t wanted to assume anything.

“I know, darling,” she says. “But anything else wouldn’t have been fair. And don’t you tell me ‘no’, I’ve been a soccer mom for God knows how many years now.”

“No, ma’am,” Jensen says.

She laughs at that, bright and bubbly, the way she only ever does for Jensen or her plants. Everyone else gets a polite, chirpy little giggle, but with Jensen, she sounds like she means it. He swallows heavily. Who’s going to be there this summer, to make her laugh? To make sure she does something besides watch bad soaps and shop for crazily expensive roses that she saw in a magazine somewhere?

“Mac asked about you, you know,” his mother says, utterly unaware of the depressing turn his thoughts have taken. “Last time I talked to her. She wanted to know why you never call her.”

It takes Jensen several attempts to swallow past the lump in his throat. “She can call me, then,” he says. “She has a phone.”

“Jensen…” his mom sighs.

“I tried calling her,” he says.

“Once,” she throws in, but Jensen just keeps on talking.

“If she’s gonna be busy all the time, she’s gonna have to be the one calling me.”

“It’s not like _you_ have all the free time in the world,” his mother reminds him.

“Yeah, but I’m actually doing shit,” Jensen says. “You know, practicing. She’s just busy painting her nails.”

“Don’t talk about your sister like that,” she says.

“Oh, like she doesn’t talk that way about me.”

“That’s enough with the attitude, young man,” his momma says, and Jensen flushes.

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he is, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to actually call Mac now.

From the sigh he gets in return, his mother knows that full well. “Just take care of yourself, okay, honey?” she says.

“I will, momma. Bye,” he says, and hangs up before they can get into a full-blown fight. They never used to argue like this. Before the divorce, Jensen was his mother’s darling, and afterwards they grew even closer. The arguments didn’t start until the money issues did. They still don’t fight much, but more than they used to. More than Jensen likes.

He slips his phone into his pocket and turns to head back to the others, only to almost bump into Jared as he rounds the corner. His friend lifts his hands defensively, but he’s smiling.

“There you are,” Jared says. “Thought you might have died.”

“Funny,” Jensen says, scowling. He’s really not in the mood to joke around.

Jared just gives him a surprised look. “What crawled up your ass and died?” he asks, half-chuckling.

For some reason, his nonchalant attitude just annoys Jensen even more. “I’m glad you find my problems so amusing,”

Jared blinks. Slowly, the wide smile melts from his face. “Dude,” he says slowly. “It’s like, the first day. What are you so pissed about already?”

And that’s kinda the thing, isn’t it? There’s nothing to _be_ pissed about. There’s just Jensen and his issues, and they’re already ruining things for Jared, too.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Why?” Jared asks.

Jensen sighs and drops his head. “’Cause I’m a grouch.”

“Yeah, but you’re _my_ grouch.” Jared slings an arm around Jensen’s shoulders. When Jensen doesn’t even crack a smile, he shakes his head. “I’m gonna go chill out for a bit,” he says. “You?”

“Sure,” Jensen says.

“Sweet,” Jared crows. “Come on. I got candy.”

They’re both lying on their beds, Jensen replaying the day’s events on his camcorder and Jared munching his way through a bag of gummy worms when Jared suddenly asks, “Have you started applying to colleges yet?”

Jensen pauses the video and turns to look at him. “Nah,” he says, trying for casual and probably failing. “You?”

Jared shakes his head slowly. “My dad keeps bugging me about it though. Wants me to go to Georgetown, ‘cause he’s an alum.” He rolls his eyes. “’I play soccer at Georgetown’,” he says. “I’m sure that’ll impress people.”

“I’m sure college wouldn’t be so bad,” Jensen says.

He flushes when Jared rises up on one elbow to give him an incredulous look. “Excuse me,” he says. “Are you nuts? Jensen, your only goal in life is to play pro. If your parents stuck you in some stuffy old private school, you would wither and die.” He flops onto his back and glowers at the ceiling. “And so would I.”

Jensen turns off the camera and rolls over to face him. “At least you have an alternative,” he says. “I’m not sure my dad even knows I’m starting my senior year.”

“He hasn’t said anything?” Jared asks quietly.

“Nah.” Jensen shakes his head and pretends his voice doesn’t go high and tight when he says, “We haven’t been talking lately.”

Jared looks at him for a moment. Jensen can see all kinds of emotion in his eyes – compassion, wariness, a bit of ‘I’m so glad that’s not me’. Finally he reaches over and offers his bag of gummy worms.

Jensen forces a smile and pops one into his mouth. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “We’ve got a summer of soccer waiting for us. Why stress about the ‘rents, eh?”

Jared grins, a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and takes his sweets back. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “You wanna go film some stuff?”

His soft tone makes Jensen’s throat close up. He sits up and starts rummaging in his backpack, looking for anything that will give him an excuse not to look at Jared’s wide brown eyes anymore. “Only if you’re going to do a striptease,” he says.

“You wish,” Jared retorts. It’s not quite their usual banter, but it’s close enough that Jensen can smile a bit more easily.

Every morning, the changing rooms turn into a giant mess. There’s not even that much to change, just sneakers to stash away and cleats to lace up, but afterwards it still looks like Armageddon hit. Jensen doesn’t usually talk much while he’s putting on his shoes, but Jared always bounds over to Strait, Hayden and Chase like he hasn’t seen them in years. Jensen feels bad sometimes for hogging all of Jared’s time. But then it’s the terrible trio that Jensen is keeping Jared from, so it’s only sometimes. Very, very sometimes.

Even now, at quarter to nine, Strait already has something to complain about. “How are we ever supposed to get laid when we have to wear these socks?” he grouses, plucking at the offending piece of clothing.

“I don’t think the problem is really the socks,” Jared says.

Strait gives him a puzzled look.

Jared grins at him. “I’d say it’s your face.”

Strait scowls and tosses his cleat at him, but Jared catches it a few inches from his face.

“Oh man,” he protests. “That’s gross.”

“Your dick’s gross,” Strait retorts.

A couple of people join in, but Jensen tries not to get involved in the rapidly deteriorating insult war. He and Strait have never been on the best of terms, not since Strait got it into his head that Jensen was being a douche to Jared, and beyond soccer strategies, they don’t have a whole lot to say to each other.

It still bugs Jensen, to be honest. Not enough to ever bring it up (also, he’s pretty sure Strait would either laugh or punch his face in if he ever mentioned it) but every once in a while, he wishes Strait hadn’t gotten such a bad impression of him, because Jensen really tries to be a decent guy.

Jared’s and Jensen’s very first meeting went something like this:

The Monday after Jensen, flushed red with pride and embarrassment, had told his parents that he had been recruited into the soccer team and endured the motherly kisses and fatherly handshakes he got in return, he edged into the locker room at 3:24 exactly. He was one of the first ones there, blushing under the scrutiny of the two older guys comparing text messages and the babyfaced kid with the red mohawk and withdrawing into a shady corner.

The room filled quickly. Some of the people he recognized. He nodded to Chris and Steve who thankfully sat down next to him but (just as thankfully) didn’t try to involve him in their conversation. There were a couple of others that he recognized from the try-outs: the stoned-looking kid with the torn jeans, the tall, skinny one, the dark haired one with the pouty lips. The rest were unfamiliar, some joking and pushing at each other, others fidgeting by themselves.

Jensen definitely belonged in the latter category. He loves soccer, he does, but he’s not good around people. The only reason he’d even tried out was because Chris and Steve had physically dragged him to the sign-up table, introduced him to assistant coach Justin Hartley and hovered over him until he scrawled his name – “Your _real_ name, Jen” – down on the piece of paper.

Then the coach came in, followed closely by the assistant coach who was all smiles and embarrassing little waves, and holy shit, the guy was huge. The little dude next to Jensen looked like he was about to pee his pants. Jensen understood the impulse. The coach looked like an army drill sergeant, maybe worse, with his white t-shirt tight across his chest and a scar on his stubbly cheek.

He stopped in the middle of the room and crossed his arms, letting his eyes scan over each of them. “Welcome,” he said, and Jensen half expected him to add, ‘to hell.’  
Instead he said, “I’m Coach Morgan, for those who haven’t met me personally yet. This is my assistant coach Justin. You’re all here because you don’t know any better.”  
He grinned evilly. “Yet.”

The kid next to Jensen whimpered a little. Jensen tilted his head to the side, because Chris and Steve, they didn’t look bothered at all. Neither did the junior with the strangely blue eyes, or any of what Jensen had dubbed his posse. And Justin Hartley just stood behind the coach with his face twitching like he was trying so very, very hard not to laugh.

Jensen was starting to get the feeling that Morgan was getting a kick out of it. Not an evil-dictator power trip, but a ‘let’s see how gullible this year’s freshmen really are’ kind of thing.

He tried to remember everything Morgan told them about school policy, home and away games, insurance, practice times, where his office was, how to keep your body healthy, but it was a lot to take in. Chris and Steve were playing tic-tac-toe on the bench between them with a sharpie, and when Jensen frowned at them, Chris winked.   
“They give you a hand-out at the end,” he whispered.

And, true enough, when his speech was winding down, Morgan pointed at Justin and grinned. “Oh, and since I know half of you weren’t really paying attention, Justin here will have it all on a hand-out for you to take home.”

The squeaky kid next to Jensen, who had been taking notes, put his pen down and sighed.

“Now for the fun part,” Coach Morgan said. He did look just a little bit evil when he grinned like that. “You all get to battle over your favorite numbers. Obviously, some are already taken by our older members, so if you’re a returning player, please stay clear of the clipboard. You don’t want to be involved, trust me.”

There was a metal table underneath the whiteboard, with a single clipboard on it. Jensen eyed it, trying not to look too excited. Steve had told him about this part, and Jensen had spent all summer trying to decide on a number (when he wasn’t busy telling them he wasn’t going to try out, of course). He’d finally found the perfect one: Number 13, like Christine Lilly. Jensen had practically been in love with her since the first time he saw her play. And yes, Chris would forever make fun of him for picking a number from a girl player, so he firmly planned to tell him it was because of Michael Ballack, the German midfielder from the 2006 World Cup. He was still a bit pissed about how that had turned out. If the States weren’t going to win it, then at least Germany could have.

Morgan waited for the brief surge of noise to die down again. “To make things easier, there will only be one pen. Whoever has the pen gets to choose. Everyone else has to wait their turn.” He smiled widely at them all, took a large step backwards, and said, “Go for it.”

Jensen rose, earning himself an encouraging smile from Steve, but he hadn’t expected half the locker room to rush towards the table. Everyone was yelling and shoving each other, scrabbling for the pen, and Jensen sat back down. He was perfectly okay with waiting until everybody else was done. Maybe 13 would still be open then. After all, superstitious people would definitely not want it, and maybe people had other numbers that meant something to them, and didn’t just want something that sounded cool?

He stated when Chris, scowling, suddenly bolted for the table, and before Jensen knew it, he held both pen and clipboard in the air. “Jen,” he called over the squabble . “Come on, Jen, get in here.”

Somebody in the crowd said, “No fair,” something Jensen totally understood, but Steve snagged the sleeve of his t-shirt and pulled him bodily into the fray. Chris pressed the pen into Jensen’s fingers and pulled his hand away. “Pick a number, Jen,” he said.

Jensen was pretty sure his face was flaming red at this point, but he clicked the pen on anyway. The embarrassment might as well be worth it.

He had just set the tip of the pen down next to the box reading _13_ when someone at his right shoulder said, “You can’t do that.”

He had almost dropped the pen in horror. He’d been on the team for less than twelve minutes, officially, and he was already screwing things up. Eyes wide, he stared at torn-jeans kid who met his look with an even glare. He looked a bit like a supermodel, so maybe the attitude was allowed. The tall and skinny one stood behind him, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I can’t?” he asked, hoping to God they didn’t hear the squeak in his voice. “Coach said to sign up for whatever’s free.”

“Thirteen isn’t free,” Supermodel protested. “It’s JT’s number.”

Jensen immediately let go of the sign-up board. He hadn’t realized that people had claim to certain numbers even if they were listed as free on the sheet. Had the coach said that? He was pretty sure he hadn’t. He really needed to pay more attention in the future.

He took a step back to let Supermodel and Tall&Skinny get to the clipboard, but before Supermodel could lay a hand on it, Chris reached over Jensen’s shoulder and plucked it off the table.

He scanned the paper and frowned. “Thirteen’s not anybody’s number,” he said. “What are you clowns talking about?”

Tall&Skinny shrugged and looked away, but Supermodel took a step forward. “JT’s been number thirteen since the third grade,” he said. “It’s his number.”

Chris made a show of looking the paper over again. 

Jensen wished he could just sink into the ground and stay there for all eternity. His face felt hot enough to roast eggs.

“Doesn’t say ‘Thirteen is JT’s number’ anywhere,” Chris announced. “Guess that means Jen here can take it if he wants. Too bad for you.” He held the clipboard out to them. “Pick something else.”

Supermodel opened his mouth, but Tall&Skinny nudged his shoulder and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, Strait,” he said quietly. “I’ll take thirty-one. He can be thirteen if he wants.”

“Whatever, man,” Supermodel said after a moment. He glared at Jensen, who tried hard not to back into the nearest wall.

“What’s the hold-up?” someone from the back asked.

“Chill out,” Chris called in the speaker’s direction. He held out the pen to Jensen, but Jensen just shook his head frantically. For a moment, Chris looked… disappointed, maybe, but before Jensen could figure out what that meant, Chris had quietly, neatly, written down _Jensen Ackles_ next to number 13.

Jensen tried to stay away from Jared – JT – after that. Supermodel (his real name was Steven, went by Strait) too. Jared seemed like a decent guy, but he was always more reserved around Jensen than any of the other guys. During practice and in the locker rooms, he would wrestle and play pranks and cackle in delight at others’ misfortune, but he always stayed clear of Jensen, and Jensen tried to extend him the same courtesy. It didn’t matter that he kind of wished Jared would try to grapple with him, wrap his arms around Jensen’s waist and lift him bodily into the air the way he did with Mike and Chase.

Still, it wasn’t until that summer break that Jared’s polite façade ever cracked. Jensen’s van got in way later than the other one because one of the guys apparently couldn’t handle his fish tacos and spent an hour puking at the side of the road, so whoever his roommate was had already dumped his stuff next to the door and scrammed. Jensen kind of wanted to do the same, but if he didn’t unpack right away, he would definitely regret it later.

He looked back and forth between the two beds. He should probably take the one by the bed, just in case he had to get up in the middle of the night. He didn’t want to wake his unknown roommate up if he ever had to use the bathroom at night. But maybe his roommate had some kind of bladder problem and wanted to be close to the bathroom himself?

With a sigh, Jensen threw his backpack down on the bed closest to the bathroom and unzipped it. He pulled out a handful of magazines and one of his summer reading assignment, and that’s when the door opened and Jared walked in.

“What are you doing on my bed, dude?” he asked.

Jensen looked over at the nightstand, and yes, of course, there was an alarm clock, half-hidden behind the lamp stand. God, he was such an idiot.  
Jared frowned at him. “First you steal my number, then you steal my bed?”

Jensen dropped his eyes to the mattress. What a great way to start this summer. He just hoped Jared wasn’t about to clock him in the face. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Jared wrinkled his nose. He tilted his head at Jensen, then he suddenly shrugged, grinned. “Oh well,” he said. “Next time I get that one.”

“I’m really sorry,” Jensen said again.

“Dude,” Jared said. “Would you relax? I don’t care about the fricking bed, it’s not a big deal.”

“But you care about the number,” Jensen said.

“Not enough to beat you up about it,” Jared said. “So stop acting like I’m about to kick your ass, okay?”

Jensen looked up at him from underneath his bangs. Jared didn’t look like he was about to kick Jensen’s ass. If anything, he looked a bit exasperated.

“Sorry,” Jensen repeated.

For a moment, Jared’s expression was all frustration. Then, suddenly, he smiled. He threw himself onto the bed next to Jensen, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and didn’t even say anything when Jensen flinched. “You need to stop apologizing, dude,” he said. “’Cause I’m really not all that scary. All bark. And you need to know shit like that if we’re gonna be friends.”


	2. Chapter 2

Three hours later, Jensen feels like he’s dissolving. His shirt seems to have melted to the skin between his shoulder blades and under his armpits, and when he reaches up to brush the wet hair from his forehead, it’s so hot he almost hisses. His face is probably blotchy and gross, the way it always gets on long, hot days.  
The one thing that makes him feel better is that everybody else is equally disgusting. Steve’s longish hair is plastered to the back of his neck, and even Chase doesn’t look so good with what seems to be a third-degree sunburn. Everybody looks like shit – except Jared.

For some reason, being in the sun makes Jared shine. Not shimmer like some pasty-assed vampire, shine. His skin seems to go from white to brown without the usual stopover at bright red, and his hair gets a little bit lighter, until all of Jared is just a warm, tempting brown. And he loves it, too. He laughs when it’s hot out, exuberant and playful despite the sweat beading at his hairline, dances around at the position Justin’s set him up at like he’s on a stage and not a dying soccer field in the middle of nowhere.

Morgan’s whistle blows and Jensen dribbles the ball at his feet forward. There are three guys (Tom, Zac, Penn) between him and Mike and the goal. Jared outside to his right, Steve on his left, all of them watching his every move.

Jensen feints toward Steve, no more than a couple of steps, and when Zac and Penn both break formation and dash forward, he whirls around, passes to Jared who sprints past their startled defenders and levers a solid kick at the goal. Mike’s there to block it and it bounces back, but before he has time to secure it Jared steals it from him and sends it into the bottom right-hand corner of the net.

Mike swears and Jared grins, movie-star smile. He glances over his shoulder, at Jensen, and then his gaze suddenly heats up, turns smoldering. Jensen stands there, staring, while Jared licks his lips, staring at Jensen through his lashes.

A sharp whistle has Jensen looking away hastily, and when he glances over again, Jared’s eyes are fixed firmly on the coach.

“Dan, take Jared’s place,” Morgan commands, “Adam, Jensen’s. Run through that again.”

Meeting Jared’s confused frown with one of his own, Jensen trudges over to the bench when the coach crooks his finger at the pair of them.

Morgan hands them their water bottles.

“So, can either of you chuckleheads tell me what you did wrong?”

Jensen flushes immediately at the words even though he has no idea. A thousand small mistakes that he could have made pop up in front of his mind’s eye. Luckily, Jared is more than ready to be loud in his stead.

“Why bother?” he asks. “You’re gonna tell us in a minute, anyway.”

Morgan pokes a finger into Jared’s chest. “Once we’re done here, you do a lap around the field.” He casts a stern look at Jensen, who ducks his head between his shoulders, and talks right over Jared’s exclaim of outrage. “That was offsides,” he says. “Pretty obviously, too. Any ref would have called it.”

Jensen bites his lip to stop himself from apologizing, because Morgan isn’t done yet. “I don’t have to tell you that it sucks more to have a goal not count because it was offsides than to not score at all. No matter how beautiful a play is, do not go for it if your striker is behind the last defender. Come on, guys, you know this.”

Jensen hangs his head in shame. He does know that. He can’t believe he didn’t take that into consideration during the drill. Total rookie mistake.

Jared looks like he’s going to argue, but Morgan shakes his head.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he says. “This is a pretty regular thing with you two, and you need to watch out for that. Jared, do not get behind the last line of defense. Jensen, if it’s close, do not pass to him.”

“Yes, sir,” Jensen mutters, ignoring the look Jared gives him.

“Jared,” Morgan prompts, and Jared shrugs.

“Sure,” he says.

“Good. You can start your lap now.”

Jared rolls his eyes but trudges off, and Morgan fixes his dark eyes on Jensen. “I mean it, Jensen,” he says. “Watch out for offsides. They’ll get ya if you’re not paying attention.”

“Yes, coach,” Jensen says meekly. He waits for something else, something more, but Morgan just turns away to watch the drill in progress, leaving Jensen standing there like an idiot.

By the time Sunday rolls around, Jensen could get on his hands and knees and kiss the ground.

Sundays are half-days only, thank God, ‘cause they’re all feeling six days of straight-up training by now. Jared is snappy and irritated, prowling the sidelines in between drills, and Jensen just hopes to hell that they can make it to lunch without him flipping out at somebody.

Of course Sunday is also the day that PJ decides to slack off. Something about a day of rest, or whatever, even though his mom is nonreligious and his dad is a Buddhist from California. Either way, he’s practically dragging his feet across the field, and when he misses the third pass Jared aims his way, Jared has apparently had enough.

“Get your fucking ass in gear,” he yells. “This isn’t grade school soccer.”

On the sidelines, Morgan smacks his clipboard against his thigh. “Aaand the honeymoon’s over,” Jensen can hear him mutter to Justin. Justin just smiles mildly – he’s used to it by now – and jots something down on his own clipboard.

Jensen just breathes deeply until his own urge to smack the back of Jared’s head has gone away. Jared’s temper is notorious. It’s not just on the field – he got suspended from school for three days in April for smacking around some guy who was talking shit about Katie – but when he’s playing, it gets even worse. And he’s not a mean guy (according to an anonymous school paper poll he’s the sweetest kid on their entire team), but he just tends to get a little… _intense_ about soccer.  
It’s just their luck that everybody else just wants to get through the remaining minutes before they can shower the brine from their bodies.

Fed up with PJ, Jared aims his next pass at Khleo, who hasn’t come into contact with the ball for over an hour. Maybe he’s daydreaming, or maybe he’s just ready for a break, but either way, Khleo starts when he sees the ball coming and by the time he’s gotten the act together, Penn has intercepted the ball and kicked it clean out of the danger zone.

Jared heaves a put-upon sigh. “What the fuck are you doing, man?” he asks Khleo loudly. “Ball’s that way.”

Morgan rolls his eyes, hands his clipboard to Justin and heads towards them. Jensen follows him quietly. He doesn’t want to make it look like he’s trying to be in charge, or anything, but he is the new captain. He needs to be on top of things now.

“God, can you be any more obnoxious?” Khleo asks back. “So I was a bit slow. Boo fucking hoo.”

“You guys,” Jensen says, but they either don’t hear him or don’t care what he has to say.

“Oh, is that gonna be your excuse?” Jared asks sweetly. “’Sorry, coach, we got beat fifteen to nil because I couldn’t be bothered to move’?”

“Oh, please,” Khleo snaps. “And you’re Mr. Perfect? I’m pretty sure you got called off the field for an offsides just the other day.”

For a moment, Jensen thinks Khleo just signed his own death sentence, but then Morgan is between them, a harsh hand on a shoulder for each. “Mind telling me why you’re interrupting my practice?” he asks, deceptively kind.

They both fall silent immediately – you don’t rat out your team mates, no matter how angry you are – and Morgan sighs. “Jared, why don’t you go run three laps around the field?”

“Why me?” Jared asks immediately. “He’s the one who’s fucking shit up.”

“And you’re the one who’s having a screaming hissy fit about it,” Morgan reminds him. “It’s okay to make mistakes, Jared. That why we’re _practicing_.”  
Jared rolls his eyes but thankfully keeps his mouth shut, and Morgan points him out to the track.

“I wasn’t kidding,” he says. “Three laps. Go.”

Jared’s lips flatten into an unhappy line but he goes, dragging his feet for a few yards before he picks up the pace and jogs away.

Morgan sighs heavily. “We were about done, anyway,” he says. “Everyone get over to the locker room, get changed. No nonsense, please, or you can come right back out and join Jared.”

Within moments, everyone heads towards the locker room. Jensen turns to go as well, with one last regretful look at Jared jogging along the far side of the field. His friend is going to be pretty damn mad when he finally makes it back to their room.

He stops for a moment to help Justin stack up the orange cones scattered around the field and drops them off with Morgan before he makes to follow the rest of the team.

“Jensen, a word, please?”

“Uh, sure, coach,” Jensen says, doubling back. He rocks on his feet while Morgan gathers up his notes. “What’s up?”

“Walk with me,” Morgan says. He hands Jensen the stack of orange cones and motions him towards the changing rooms. They walk in silence all the way across the grass.   
“Catch up,” Morgan tells Jensen at the locker room door and takes the cones from his hands, not even slowing his pace.

Jensen wastes several precious seconds just staring at his retreating back before he pushes open the door and throws himself down at his locker. He slips out of his cleats and into his vans and snags his bag before rushing back outside and after the man.

“So, what’s going on?” he asks, stumbling after his coach in the dimly lit hallway.

“We’ll get to that in a minute.”

Well, that sounds vaguely ominous. Jensen stomps down on the foreboding feeling building in his gut, even more so when Morgan opens the door to his office and waves him inside.

Jensen perches on one of the visitor’s chairs at the coach’s request, fidgeting with his bag until Morgan himself has dropped the cones in a corner and taken a seat.   
The man stares at him for a moment, lazily spinning a pen on his desk in lopsided circles, before he sits up straight and staples his hands together.

“Jensen, do you know why I made you team captain?”

“Uh. Because I’m a goody two-shoes?” Jensen jokes feebly, face flaming.

The coach frowns. “Well, it definitely wasn’t because of your self-esteem,” he says.

Jensen blushes, of course, and Morgan rolls his eyes.

“One of these days,” he says, “you are going to grow a backbone, and then people won’t even know what to do with you.”

“O-kay…” Jensen mumbles.

Morgan shakes his head. “Seriously, Jensen, you need to live up to your potential.”

“I’m trying,” Jensen says, but Morgan shakes his head again.

“You need to rule the field with an iron fist,” he says. He tilts down his head like he’s used to wearing reading glasses and fixes Jensen with a stern look. “You need to be in control of your players every second of the game. You have to coax Dan and Julian out of their shells and keep a tight rein on Jared, all without letting it affect your own performance.”

Yeah, no pressure.

“You say that like it’s so easy,” Jensen mumbles to his feet. He looks up when Morgan scoffs.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Jensen. It’ll be hard. Especially for you.”

Jensen blushed all the way to his ears, and Morgan pulls a face like Jensen just proved his point.

The man shakes his head. “But if you don’t, this entire team is going to fall apart, right under your hands.”

They’ve got about a half-hour before lunch is ready so Jensen trudges back to his room to shower and get changed. The shower is running – knowing Jared, it will be running for some time – and the room is quiet. No loud voices filter in from the corridor. Jensen reaches under his bed for his camera case, unzips it and opens the menu for saved files. He does that sometimes, goes through things he filmed ages ago when he has a quiet moment to himself.

It’s cool, mostly. Sometimes it hurts, too, when it’s from some family vacation of the five of them, all being one big happy family together, but Jensen knows which files to avoid now. His camera has been his refuge for kind of a long time.

This time, though, he deliberately finds one of his least watched files, and, heart pounding, presses _play_.

_Jensen, wearing only shorts and a t-shirt, stares gloomily at the camera._

_“It’s June 24th,” he says. The camera sweeps around to show a small room, a little messy but otherwise empty. “As you can see, Jared’s off being popular. The guys don’t want me around ‘cause I’m always in a bad mood nowadays.”_

_The image returns to Jensen who glowers at the lens. “That’s what Chris said, anyway. I think he was trying to snap me out of it. Only managed to piss me off.”_

_He holds the camcorder steady with his knees and fishes an open bag of chips from the bedside table._

_“Anyway, as I was saying, it’s June 24th. That makes it…” he stares at the ceiling, brows furrowed, “…one hundred and thirty-three days since the move-out. Seventy-eight days since they signed the papers.”_

_He glares at the bag in his hands, scrunches up it up and tosses it out of the camera’s view._

_“Two weeks since the last time dad called to explain that it wasn’t my fault. Like it’s my fault he decided Momma wasn’t good enough for him anymore. Like it’s my fault Josh and Mac decided they should take the easy way out and let me take care of her by myself.”_

_He pauses for a moment, thinks, and reaches over to turn the camera off with a muttered, “This is so stupid.”_

Jensen flicks the power switch to ‘off’ after that.

Josh and Mac couldn’t get out of the house fast enough when their parents announced the split. Just up and left Jensen with his momma slowly going crazy, building ponds and terraces and rose gardens that they really don’t have the money for. He’d been so sure that they could have fixed it if they had only stayed together, fixed their family, but all Josh had said was, “I’m at school for most of the year anyway, kid, it doesn’t matter either way for me. I’m just moving my stuff to Dad’s new place. Jesus Christ, are you crying? You can’t tell me you didn’t see this coming.”

But Jensen _hadn’t_ seen it coming. Yeah, his parents had fought, but it wasn’t _divorce_ fighting. He hadn’t even believed them at first. One minute, everything was just fine and dandy, and the next, Josh pushed him out into the hallway so he could pack up his room and Mac sobbed into Dad’s shoulder because she didn’t want to tell their momma that she wanted to live with Dad more, and Jensen stood in the hallway like a broken toy with nothing to do and nowhere to go.

But it’s better now. He has soccer, he has Jared. Especially the latter is amazing pretty much all day every day, asides from Sundays, which somehow always turn into complete disasters.

Sundays are also laundry days, so technically Jensen should be stuffing all his dirty clothes into neatly labeled bags, but that can wait until tonight. So instead of doing anything productive, he sprawls out on his bed and leafs through one of Jared’s magazines until his roommate manages to crawl out of his shower.

It’s a sheer eternity before the water turns off, and then another couple of minutes before the door opens and Jared shuffles into the room.

He’s shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips, his chest a landscape of tan muscles. It’s not fair that Jared gets to be tall _and_ broad while he’s still in high school, and Jensen is the one who gets stuck with the scrawny genes.

“Hey,” Jensen says quietly. He risks a smile. “Thought you might have drowned.”

Jared doesn’t smile, not even a quirk of his lips, and Jensen lets the expression melt away.

“You okay?” he asks instead.

Jared nods, shakes his head, shrugs. He turns to open the top drawer of his dresser and pulls out a clean pair of boxers. “Just mad at myself,” he says.

He turns around right after, pushes pants and boxers down around his ankles and steps out of them. Jensen desperately hopes that he won’t turn around because he can’t seem to stop staring. Especially when Jared bends over to thread his legs into his clean underwear and gives Jensen a clear, unobstructed shot of his ass.

Jensen doesn’t know whether to be glad or disappointed when Jared pulls the fabric over his slim hips and then hides it underneath a pair of cargo shorts.

Probably glad, though, because a moment later the door flies open and Hayden stands in the room. “Yo, Jayred,” he says. “Three on three in five.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jared says. He looks around the room and grabs an inside-out t-shirt from on top of the dresser. “Go ahead, I’ma get dressed.”

Hayden grins and disappears, leaving the door half open behind him.

Jared pulls the shirt on and gets down on his hands and knees, fishing underneath the bed for his converse. He pulls out one but then stops and looks up, shoe in his hand. “You wanna come?” he asks.

Jensen blinks at him. “I suck at basketball, you know that,” he says. “Plus, you already have six guys.”

“You don’t have to play,” Jared says. He bites his lip and looks away. “You could bring your camera, or a book, or whatever. You know, hang out.”

“I don’t know,” Jensen starts, but Jared gives him a hopeful look.

“Please come,” he says quietly, pleading, and, well. Jensen’s never been known for his backbone.

“Fine,” he says, immediately melting inside when Jared beams at him.

“Baller.” He grins. “Get dressed, dude, come on.”

The basketball courts are right underneath their window, next to a lawn and a sandpit with a volleyball net. Jensen follows in Jared’s wake, book clutched under his arm. Hayden scowls when he sees him but Jensen pretends not to notice. It’s not like he wants to play.

He lays down in the shade to avoid freckles – he really doesn’t need to give anyone the extra ammunition – and flips his book open. It’s on their summer reading list, Jane Eyre, otherwise he wouldn’t have touched it. It’s too sappy for his liking. And people may poke fun at him for it, but Jensen likes getting a head start on his assignments. SCSSCs can get pretty crazy later on, and the last thing he wants to do in the hopefully three weeks he’ll have left between getting home and school starting again is having to work his way through five hundred pages of utter tripe.

The guys don’t take long to get set up, old pros after three summers. Within minutes, they’re all over the court, blocking and dodging, cursing and laughing. They push and shove and argue, but it’s light and teasing, and Jensen can’t bring himself to focus on his book.

His attention keeps drifting over to Jared, the way he laughs, sweaty and excited, the way his shirt rides up to expose a strip of belly every time he takes a shot. He thinks about running his hand over it, how those muscles would feel moving against his skin. How he wishes Jared would turn his head and smile at him, sweet and open, the way he does sometimes when no one else is around.

He shakes his head and blinks the image away. Jared has the ball tucked under one arm and is joking around with Chase and Adam, but there’s also Hayden, watching Jensen with a frown creasing his forehead. Flushing, Jensen buries his nose in his book, but it takes several long moments before Hayden looks away.

Jensen has barely gotten in the swing of things – food, practice, more food, more practice, hanging out with Jared, and even more food – when it’s the morning of their first match. The Beavers get in really late, late enough that they first lay eyes on each other at breakfast, the guys from Lordan High wearing matching brown sweatshirts. The dining room staff sets up another few tables for them and they dig in like they’re starving. They might be. From the looks of things, Jensen is pretty sure ‘must be scrawny’ is one of their recruiting requirements.

Jared practically springs to his feet when he’s polished off his plate. “Let’s get changed,” he says.

Mike rolls his eyes. He forks hash browns into his mouth and says, mouth full, “Give us a minute to get ready, yeah?”

“I’m ready,” Jared says. The way he bounces on his feet certainly says he is.

Jensen has barely taken three bites of his croissant, and he puts it down on his plate. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up,” he says.

“Aw, Jen,” Jared says. He takes Jensen’s arm and pulls him to his feet. “You’ll be fine once we get you out on the field.”

The sad thing is, he’s probably right. There’s something about matches that make Jensen forget all of his discomfort and just focus on the ball. It’s just the waiting around that gets him. So he nods goodbye to his unfinished breakfast, to Mike and Tom, and lets Jared drag him down to their locker room.

Jensen hasn’t worn his uniform since the last game of the fall season, but the fabric feels as familiar in his hands as ever. His jersey is a soft maroon with white side stripes. Jensen’s not sure what genius came up with the idea for white shorts – grass stains are a bitch to get out of them, which he knows since he started doing the laundry himself – but he has to admit that their uniforms do look pretty snazzy. Even if they’re maroon. For an all-guys team.

They wander onto the field amidst nervous laughter and roughhousing. It’s a weird atmosphere. Usually Steve is one of their staples, but Morgan wanted to put Dan in instead. The kid’s twitchy all through-out the coin toss that the other guys win, and even when the whistle blows, he still has that stumped, ‘I can’t believe this is happening’ look on his face.

The game starts out slow. The Beavers are hesitant, and they got killed in their last game against Austin High, so it’s no surprise the first half of the game is mostly just kicking the ball around. Jared gets in a few good shots, but apparently they’ve upgraded their keeper since then, because he blocks everything Jared throws his way.

After half-time, the pace picks up some. The Beavers’ coach must have held one hell of a pep talk because they’re actually going for the ball now. Jensen has to throw in his all to steal the ball from their striker and he passes it to Dan, willing him in his head to just freaking score already.

Except then the Beaver’s single striker, number 73, heads straight for Dan and Dan just _freezes_. 73 plucks the ball from him like he’s taking candy from a baby, and a minute later, it’s only Mike’s quick reflexes that keep the Beavers from taking the lead.

Jensen breathes out a sharp sigh of relief. Mike is a damn good goalie, but that doesn’t mean Jensen doesn’t get a bit antsy when it gets to be that close. He honestly kind of wishes Steve were playing this, not Dan, but it’s true that Dan needs the exposure and the Beavers aren’t the most challenging opponents ever.

But of course Jared doesn’t see it that way. "Are you fucking blind?" he roars.

Dan cowers away from him.

Jared doesn't even seem to notice. "All you had to do," he seethes, "is receive the damn ball and send it wide, but no. What do you do? You panic. You _panic_. How did you even qualify for the damn team if a ball coming towards you gives you a heart attack?"

A large hand settles on Jared's shoulder. “I’m thinking running a lap might do you some good," Morgan says. He sounds friendly enough, but nobody believes for a second that that was a mere request. Jensen can see Jared's anger sputter and die.

"Now?" he pleads.

"Yes, now," Morgan says. "Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to recover before I decide to send you in again."

Jared looks so miserable that Jensen half expects Morgan to produce a dead puppy or a drowned kitten out of thin air. “But I –” he starts.

“Are you sure you want to argue with me right now?” Morgan asks calmly, but Jared flinches like he’s been smacked.

“No, Coach,” he whispers.

Morgan doesn’t even say anything, just points him to the track with his clipboard, and Jared slinks away with his head hung low.

The ref gestures at Morgan, frowning, and Morgan nods.

“Jensen, come here a minute,” he says.

Jensen does, trying to level out his breathing. He expects Morgan to tell him what mistakes he’s making, what to watch out for, but instead he asks, "Dan or Khleo?"

Jensen stares at him. "You want my opinion?" he asks. His voice flips uncomfortably.

“You’re my captain,” Morgan says. He sounds a little impatient, but mostly just tired. “You know your players. Dan or Khleo?”

Jensen sucks his lower lip into his mouth. Honestly, the only logical choice here would be Jared, temper or no temper. Dan’s barely a sophomore and you can tell just by watching him. He’s all over the place on the field, looks like he can’t decide if he wants to chase after the ball or run away from it. He gets scared of other players, too, lets them steal balls from him when he could easily outrun them. Keeping him in is a risk, no matter which way you spin it.

And Khleo may be more experienced, but that doesn’t mean he’s necessarily a better choice. His plays are slower. Much better executed, but sometimes it seems like he just has to stop and think for a minute, and they really can’t afford that right now. Dan may be sloppier and pathetically twitchy, but at least he won’t be getting the ball stolen from him because he was just musing about life for a while.

Jensen gnaws on his lip. He casts a quick look at Morgan but the man is watching the field like they have all the time in the world, even though the parents on the stands are getting restless and the ref is glaring their way pretty damn hard.

"Khleo," he says finally. "Dan's upset now. He'll make mistakes."

Morgan nods thoughtfully. His face is blank, not giving a single hint on whether or not that was the right choice, and Jensen kind of wants to die. What if he just fucked up the game for them? God, he should have picked Dan. Khleo is too slow, way too slow, he’ll be easy pickings for their 56.

Damn it, they’re going to lose and it’s all Jensen’s fault. “Coach,” he starts, but Morgan waves him off.

“You should get back on the field,” he says over his shoulder.

Jensen sees him motion for Steve to get ready to go in for Jared, and Khleo for Dan. He exchanges some quick words with the ref while they take off their orange pennies. A moment later, one of the ref’s assistants holds up a board. 31 out, 55 in. Steve jogs onto the field, high-fiving Chris on his way over.

Another board: 46 out, 88 in. Dan flinches when his number comes up but trudges off the field without a word, doesn’t even look at Khleo when he flops down on the bench, as far away from Jared, who just finished his lap and sat down, as he can manage. He takes the orange penny Justin hands him listlessly, and Jensen frowns. That was not what he intended.

The ref’s whistle blows and Jensen focuses back on the game, but the passes are slower now, more wary, like the Beavers are just trying to figure out who’ll be the next person to blow. Jared stalks up and down the side of the field like a caged tiger. Every once in a while he turns pleading eyes on Morgan who steadfastly ignores him.

Steve’s all over the field, all nervous energy, and Khleo holds his own pretty well too. Their near-success seems to have invigorated the Beavers, though, because all of a sudden Jensen and his team find themselves having to step up to match the other guys’ pace.

Still, they’re holding their own. And then Steve has the ball, and he’s sprinting, and every single Beaver defender is about to pile on top of him but suddenly Khleo has the ball and he fits it neatly into the top left, finally, finally giving them their lead.

Jensen cheers with the others, watching Khleo bare his chest in front of the measly two-dozen watchers, and finds himself involuntarily looking around for Jared.  
He’s grinning too, practically vibrating on his bench, and Morgan is watching him with a grin. “Jared,” he calls, waving him over.

Jared looks up, obviously not really daring to hope, but Morgan motions for him to take his orange penny off. “Come on, you’re going back in.”

“Thank you,” Jared says quickly. “Thank you. You won’t regret this.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Morgan tells him.

Jared nods, face flushed, and does a quick sprint up and down the field to get warmed up again.

A few minutes later, Morgan calls Khleo off the field and he goes with the biggest smile on his face. Jared flits around like a dervish but it stays at the one goal, which is totally fine, Jensen thinks when the whistle blows.

A win is a win.

Everybody runs off to congratulate Khleo. Jensen follows more leisurely – he can still make an appearance after the crowd has dispersed. He feels Morgan’s hand on his shoulder, and when he looks around, he earns himself a wink. “Good choice,” he says. Jensen thinks he could fly away, he’s so happy.

And then Jared bounds up to him and wraps him up in the biggest hug imaginable (Jensen could swear he hears some of his ribs crack), pawing at him like he can’t help himself. A moment later he steps back, clears his throat. He doesn’t even look at Jensen when he says, “I’ma, I’ma get changed.”

So Jensen’s euphoria takes a sharp turn towards confusion, but hey. What’s life without a bit of variety.

He’s halfway back to their room before he realizes that he left his water bottle in the locker room. He could go back for it tomorrow, of course, but he’s learned early on that that murky smell of old water never really goes away. When it comes to gear, it’s best to take care of it right away.

He pushes open the door to the locker room and flicks on the light, expecting it to be empty, so he almost has a heart attack when he sees Dan on the floor, leaning against the wall underneath the whiteboard. “Dan,” he says. “What’s up, man?”

Dan looks away. “Nothing,” he says.

“So you just enjoy sitting in the dark by yourself?” Jensen prods. He means to sound teasing, but Dan doesn’t even crack a smile.

“Come on, man,” Jensen says. He slides down the wall to sit next to Dan and nudges him with his elbow. “What’s going on with you?”

Dan doesn’t say anything for a moment. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, but it takes a minute or two before he finally comes out with, “Just… the match, you know?”

“The one today?” Jensen asks. “That’s why you’re upset? Because we won that, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Definitely not thanks to me,” Dan says. “You can ask anybody if you don’t believe me. If anything, I sabotaged everybody.”

“What the hell, dude?” Jensen says. Dan’s a quiet one, yeah, definitely not much of a backbone there, but he’s usually not that hard on himself. And yeah, he might have sucked today but he does usually do pretty well, so Jensen is being mostly honest when he says, “Plus, you weren’t all that bad.”

“You’re just saying that,” Dan tells him.

And yeah, Jensen has the tendency to do that, but there’s no way he’d actually admit that. Instead, he nudges Dan’s shoulder again. “Seriously. What’s going on with you?”

“I suck,” Dan mumbles. “I just – I suck. I don’t know why Morgan even lets me stay on the team.”

“’Cause he can see the potential,” Jensen says. “Morgan doesn’t take on charity cases, okay? He’s not that kind of guy.”

When Dan scoffs and looks away, Jensen grabs his shoulder. “I’m serious. Morgan knows his shit. He’s never been wrong before.”

“Well maybe he’s wrong about me,” Dan says. He doesn’t turn his head. “’Cause it’s pretty obvious that I don’t know mine.”

Jensen heaves a frustrated sigh. He should have known that it was going to come back to that. “You shouldn’t listen to Jared when he’s angry.”

Dan looks at him then, both surprised and guilty, and Jensen smiles at him.

“He’s got a temper, yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to believe what he spouts off when he’s mad. He’d be saying the same shit to the rest of us if we messed up.”

That’s not entirely true – Jared tends very much to keep himself in check around people he’s legitimately friends with – but Dan doesn’t need to know that. It’s not that Jared doesn’t like Dan, but he tends to consider fucking up on the field a personal insult.

And he doesn’t really deal well with insults.

Dan picks at his nails. “I still suck,” he mutters.

Jensen claps a hand on his shoulder. “Dude, seriously,” he says. “Honestly, you’re a freshman. Nobody expects you to be part of the regular line-up.”

“You were,” Dan points out. “Jared was.”

“Yeah, well, Jared’s a freak,” Jensen says uneasily. He’s not good with people telling him how abnormal he is. Even if it’s a good thing, like with soccer.

Dan doesn’t respond, just sighs, and Jensen sighs as well. Where are those damn coaches when you need them?

“Look, Dan,” he begins. Stops. Begins again. “Jared said some shit he shouldn’t have said. None of us walked out on the field and were perfect, and we’ve all had some major fuck-ups on the field before. Yes, even Jared and I,” he says with a roll of his eyes when Dan gives him a startled look. “We’re not perfect. You’re not, either, but neither are we. Okay?”

“Thanks, Jensen,” Dan says quietly, and Jensen grins at him.

“No worries, man,” he says. He pushes himself to his feet. “We like you, Dan, okay? Nobody here thinks you suck.”

Jared’s just getting out of the shower when Jensen gets back to their room, the mirror in the bathroom still all fogged up and Jared’s hair plastered to his head except for the rebellious cowlick at the back. “Where have _you_ been?” he asks.

“Around,” Jensen says vaguely.

Jared gives him a look that clearly says ‘Yeah, right,’ but doesn’t call him on it. “Know who we’re playing next, yet?” he asks. He shakes his head a little, towel pressed to his ear. “We should have gotten word by now, right?”

“The Buffalos,” Jensen says. “It’s a home game.”

“The Buffalos? Like, Melrose High?” Jared pulls the towel away and replaces it with his finger. “They suck. How did they make it past the first round?”

“We shouldn’t underestimate them,” Jensen says automatically.

“I’m not,” Jared responds. “This is like, the first game they’ve won all year.”

“They’re not that bad,” Jensen says, even though yes, they kind of are.

Jared shakes his head like he expected nothing different, and then he laughs. “Suit yourself,” he says. “You can stress out if you want to. I’m gonna be relaxed about this one.”

Over the next couple of days, Morgan lives up to his nickname as ‘The Torturer.’ His training sessions get increasingly intense, to the point where not even Jared can keep up with him anymore. Or should that be, especially not Jared, because it does seem like Morgan has it out for the guy.

One afternoon, Jared sleeps sprawled out on his back, mouth open, skater mag slowly sliding off his stomach. He looks all tuckered out, like he just barely had enough energy after his shower to crawl into bed.

Jensen carefully lifts the magazine off him and stashes it on the bedside table. Jared’s cheeks are flushed a dark red, from a rare sunburn and exercise alike, and Jensen feels a bit bad for him. Morgan is working him pretty hard this time around, including him in almost every drill and cracking down on every little display of temper without mercy. Jensen never thought he’d see the day when Jared took a “Try that again, that was terrible,” without so much as a glare, but apparently Jay’s seemingly infinite energy resources are dying down.

He eases down next to Jared, carefully, but Jared stirs anyway.

“Mmh, Jensen,” he murmurs.

“How are you feeling?” Jensen asks him.

“Like shit,” Jared responds. He groans. “Like I got hit over and over by a Mac truck driven by one Coach Jeffrey Morgan.”

“You’re not getting sick, are you?” Jensen asks. He reaches up to feel Jared’s forehead. It’s warm, but definitely not _hot_.

“Nah,” Jared mumbles. “I’m just,” he yawns, mouth open wide, “tired.”

“I can see that,” Jensen says.

“The guys wanna play basketball,” Jared says.

Of course they do. Hayden, Strait and Chase are always doing something, always being loud and competitive, and they always want Jared with them. Popular bastard. 

“Are you gonna go?” he asks.

Jared just snickers quietly. “How, man?” he asks. “I can’t even get off the bed without screaming in pain.”

“D’you want some Advil?” Jensen asks him. The coaches usually have some on hand for occasions like this, but Jensen has his own stash tucked away in his bag – just to be on the safe side.

But Jared shakes his head. “Just wanna sleep.” He rolls over onto his side, towards Jensen, and lets his eyes drift closed. “Will you stay with me?” he asks, nuzzling into Jensen’s stomach, and that, that is not fair at all.

“Yeah,” he says, voice rough, and Jared sighs contentedly, already mostly asleep again. Jensen lets his fingers slide between Jared’s messy curls, rests his other hand on Jared’s sunburned neck, and thinks, _Of course I will._

Of course, to make things even worse, the temperature keeps climbing. Jensen is pretty sure this is a record summer but there’s not a whole lot of news that make their way out here. He’s starting to daydream about the public pool that’s only a couple of blocks from his house, the one he and Steve used to bike to every afternoon until Steve suddenly had a baby sister and his family moved across town into a bigger house.

Morgan still works them hard, running them through drills over and over again. Attack, defend, one-on-ones, three-on-threes, two-on-threes, flighted balls, flying changes. Everybody grumbles about it, but Jensen is well aware that Morgan lets them have extra half-hours for lunch, sends them in to clean up fifteen minutes early. 

Most of his drills now only involve a couple of people so that the rest of them can sit in the shade under the trees lining the field and not die of heatstroke.

But it’s still tough. One day their water canister is empty halfway through the afternoon, and Justin comes over to whisper something in Morgan’s ear. Morgan doesn’t look pleased about it but he nods and turns to their little group, huddled miserably in the shade. “Okay, team,” he says. He looks like he’s about to say something threatening, but in the end, he just shakes his head. “Let’s head in.”

Nobody moves for a moment, none of them believing their luck, but then it’s a virtual stampede to get inside. It’s mercifully cool inside the hallways, even if their rooms are starting to heat up as well. At least the bathroom windows are small so they can’t turn into mini-saunas.

Jensen rinses off quickly because Jared likes his showers long and steaming – he’s a total girl like that – and is halfway dressed with his t-shirt stuck over his head when someone knocks on the door. He yanks the shirt down, probably leaving red marks on his face and his hair in a giant mess, and croaks, “Yeah?”

Tom’s the one who opens the door. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that he’s probably going to hate himself for later, if he plans on going outside at all, and he looks all around the room like it’s Jared he wants. Of course. “Jared still in the shower?” he asks.

Jensen nods.

Mike, forcibly pushing into the room behind Tom, rolls his eyes. “Of course he is,” he says. “Whatever, we’ll leave him a note. You wanna come, Jensen?”

“Come where?” he asks. He kind of wants to wait for Jared, but Mike pulls out the pleading eyes.

“The field behind the basketball courts. You and your honey won’t be separated for long, I promise.”

“Very funny,” Jensen says, flushing. He reaches for his shoes. “What trouble are you guys trying to get into this time?”

Mike gives him a droll expression. “Why, I believe Mr. James has procured some crack for us to try.”

“Mike,” Jensen starts, but the guy rolls his eyes. 

“We’re gonna smoke some cigarettes and eat some chips, and then we’re all gonna run home and shower before Morgan catches us, okay? It won’t kill us.” He throws his arm around Jensen’s shoulders. “And if you start quoting me tobacco death statistics, I will punch you.”

Jensen ties his second lace with jerky movements. “Fine, do what you want,” he says. “But when you’re dying of lung cancer in thirty years, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so.’”

Mike tugs him off the bed and to the door. “You wouldn’t do that,” he says. “You’d feel too guilty gloating at the terminally ill.”

Jensen scowls but can’t deny it, and settles for pushing Mike out the door.

The heat outside is barely tolerable, even in the grove of trees behind the groundskeeper’s cabin (yes, Hart has a groundskeeper) where the guys are merrily puffing away. Jensen half expects them to groan when they see him, but instead they just shuffle around to make space for the three of them. There’s a good number of them, too – Chase, Hayden, and Strait, the usual suspects, but also Chris and Steve and Zac and Julian. That explains it then: There’s already a couple of the not so cool players here, so they might as well invite some more.

“No, man,” Chase says. He gestures wildly with his hands, so this must be some story he’s telling. “I’m serious. I’ve got my tongue in her mouth and everything, and she’s taking off her shirt and letting me cop a feel, full-on hand on her bra and massaging her and whatnot, and then she says, ‘Yo, I gotta meet my tutor, see you in class’ and walks away.”

Jensen joins in the chorus of disbelieving groans as the guys slap Chase’s shoulder and mutter their condolences.

Julian blinks. “She didn’t put her shirt back on?”

Chris, lying in the grass with his head propped up in his hand, rolls his eyes. “No, Morris,” he says, “She took off topless. That’s our new dress code, don’cha know?”

For a moment, Julian looks honestly perplexed. Then he scowls. “Very funny, Kane,” he says, tossing a few blades of grass Chris’ way.

Chris smiles pleasantly. “You’re just upset ‘cause the last tits you’ve seen were your momma’s.”

Jensen laughs with the others, but only quietly. He doesn’t dare draw attention to himself. Sure, he’s gotten a couple of Truth-or-Dare kisses in and seen Kristen’s nipples once when they went skinny-dipping, but he can’t say he’s itching for more. Talking about a girl’s bra size or about sneaking your fingers under her skirt just leaves his mouth dry and his chest uncomfortably tight. And it’s not just that his momma told him not to talk about women that way, it’s that he doesn’t want to do it. 

He’d much rather watch Chase’s blue eyes gleam when he tells his story, or the way Steve’s jeans slide off his ass when he wrestles Chris for the last cigarette.

The conversation derails after that, from countries they’d wanna play against if they ever made it to the world cup, to which country has the prettiest girls, to who’s the prettiest girl at their school, to – somehow – Celebrity Deathmatch. Jensen isn’t sure that’s even on the air anymore, but Zac and Hayden get so into it that he kind of doesn’t dare mention that.

“Rooney. Definitely Rooney,” Chris says when he finally gets a word in edgewise. “Are you kidding? Beckham’s a wuss.”

“At least Beckham has style. Rooney’s just an ugly fucker.”

If someone besides Chase had said that, everyone would be crowing about how much of a faggot he is. But because it is Chase, and everyone knows he lost his virginity when he was fourteen – to a girl – and has a steady girlfriend who’s a whole year older than he is, and he still slept with three different cheerleaders, no one dares to even hint at it.

Chris nods proudly. “Exactly. Beckham would be too busy primping himself, and Rooney would just kick his ass.”

Jensen starts when Jared flops down on the ground next to him. He’s freshly showered, his bangs still leaving droplets of water on his forehead, and wearing a shirt so tight Jensen wonders for a moment if it’s really his. Maybe he stole one of Jensen’s. Even though Jensen thinks he would know if he owned a t-shirt that says _Kicking Ass & Taking Naps_.

Jared rests his hand in the small of Jensen’s back. “What’d I miss?” he asks quietly.

His fingers are hot through Jensen’s shirt, and he smiles. “Just a fight over who would win Celebrity Deathmatch: Beckham or Rooney.”

“Oh good,” Jared says. He yawns. “Quality entertainment.”

“You’ve been missing out,” Jensen says quietly. He’s not sure he’s even loud enough for Jared to hear him, but Jared just winks at him before he pillows his head on his arm and closes his eyes. His other hand is still on Jensen’s back, warm and heavy, and Jensen has to fight to keep the stupid grin off his face.

They’re doing crunches side by side, touching their elbows to the opposite knee every time they rise up. Morgan is somewhere on the other side of the field, setting up a course, and Jared’s movements are so sloppy that you can totally tell. “I think you’d be a great coach,” Jared says at some point.

“What?” Jensen asks. He keeps moving, unlike Jared, who has the tendency to talk for half an hour before he remembers that he’s supposed to be working out his abs.

“After you go pro, of course,” he says slowly. “You play for a couple of years, and then you come back to some college or high school or whatever and teach everybody how to be as awesome as you.”

“Sounds good,” Jensen mutters. He touches his right elbow to his left knee and his left elbow to his right knee before he adds, “So would you though.”

Jared shakes his head. “Too impatient,” he says. “Can you imagine me with a bunch of idiot kids on my hands? I’d just go in and do the damn drills myself.”

Jensen can’t help snorting at the thought. “You’d be terrifying,” he admits.

Jared rolls over onto his side and props himself up on his elbow. “Oh yeah. But I’m serious, man. You could totally be a coach. The parents would be all over you, and you’re a good teacher.”

“Where on earth did you get that from?” Jensen asks. “I’m the worst teacher ever.”

“Uh, no.” Jared pokes him in the side. “Remember that practice you ran a while back, when Morgan had to go to that teacher’s conference?”

Jensen does remember. He tries hard not to, but the incident is forever burned into his mind. Their current captain had been off looking at colleges and Jensen was stuck trying to exude authority over people who don’t even hear him most of the time. He had never been so glad to watch the minute marker switch over to five o’clock.

“Yes,” Jensen finally mutters, because Jared won’t stop staring at him.

Jared gestures with his hand like that explains everything. “See? You were good at it.”

“People wouldn’t stop complaining,” Jensen points out.

“They never stop complaining,” Jared says. “Look, Jensen, I’ve been going to soccer practices since pre-school. I know a good one when I see it.”

Jensen flattens his mouth into a thin line. It’s nice, what Jared is trying to do, but Jensen can’t say he’s really buying it.

Jared nudges his side again. “Come on, Jen,” he whines. “What do you think?”

“I think you need to go run a couple of laps. You were supposed to be doing crunches, I believe?”

Jared slumps onto his back with a groan. “Honestly?” he asks the world at large.

Above him, Morgan shoots a look at Jensen who only shrugs. Yeah, Morgan always makes them run laps when they don’t play by his rules, but Jared must have done hundreds of laps by now and he still hasn’t learned, so he’s not really sure there’s a point.

Morgan smiles wryly, as if that reasoning is spelled out on Jensen’s forehead or something. “Next time,” he adds, and a relieved smile blossoms on Jared’s face.

“Yes, sir,” he says smartly and finally starts moving again, grinning up at Morgan like a little kid trying to prove how good he can be.

Morgan shakes his head and turns away. “Do your crunches, Jared,” he says over his shoulder. “I mean it.”

Jared nods, overly enthusiastic, but he still gives Jensen a look. “Just, think about it, okay?”

Chris, Adam and Zac come by when Jared’s still in the shower to see if Jensen wants to play hacky sack with them, which Jensen turns out to be surprisingly good at. He completely forgets the time, laughing and joking with the guys, and they end up playing for so long that they have to head straight to dinner if they don’t want to miss it.

Jared, though. Jared’s not there. And Jared _never_ misses dinner. Breakfast maybe, when he can’t be bothered to get up, but never dinner.

Jensen quickly shovels his helping of lasagna into his mouth and makes his escape up to their room before people even get up for seconds. Panic demands that he just burst into the room and demand an explanation, but instead he eases open the door. All the sees is a large lump underneath Jared’s blanket.

“Jared?” he asks quietly.

After a moment of silence, Jared pushes the covers away from his face. “Everything hurts,” he whines.

Jensen edges closer. “Everything hurts as in, ‘Morgan kicked my ass,’ or everything hurts like ‘my organs are failing and I need to go to the hospital’?’”

“I’m dying,” Jared moans, which is usually a pretty good indicator that he’s not. The time Jared got accidentally kicked in the stomach with a cleat, all he did was pant heavily and dig his fingers into the grass.

Jensen bites his lip. He reaches over and strokes Jared’s arm through the blanket, smiling when Jared makes a querying noise. “You’re not gonna die,” he says. “Just relax, okay? Sleep if you can.”

Jared grumbles something but obediently rolls over onto his side.

Jensen sneaks out the door not because he doesn’t want to disturb Jared but because he doesn’t want Jared to think he’s leaving him. Once outside, though, he picks up his pace and speed-walks down the corridor. 

There’s a light on underneath the door to Morgan’s office (or rather, the office of the Hart Academy PE teacher that Morgan usurps year after year), and he can hear papers being shuffled inside. It still takes him a few moments to work up the courage to knock. He has no idea what he’s doing, if Coach is even going to hear him out. 

For all Jensen knows, he might get sent back to his room with a pat on the head.

But he still knocks. For Jared, if nothing else.

“It’s open,” he hears Morgan say.

He turns the knob slowly and shuffles inside. “Hi Coach,” he says.

Morgan smiles. “Jensen. What can I do you for?”

“I know it’s kinda late,” Jensen says. He pulls at the hem of his t-shirt. “Sorry about that.”

“I think I can forgive it for today,” Morgan says, half amused and half rolling his eyes. “How’s Jared?”

“You mean after you ran him into the ground?” Jensen doesn’t mean for it to sound so accusing, but well, it’s Jared. Jared who gets himself into trouble left and right because he can’t sit still for ten seconds, Jared who’s tried just about everything there is to try in this world just because he gets bored with anything he does more than twice. Seeing him passed out in the middle of the day when he should be off doing random shit with the guys is freaky and a little bit terrifying.

Jensen sucks his lower lip into his mouth. “Sleeping like the dead. He’s completely exhausted.” He hesitates. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

Morgan grins at him. “Figured me out, did you?”

“I think so,” Jensen says slowly. “You’re trying to wear him out, aren’t you?”

Morgan watches him with glittering eyes.

“I mean, I get it,” Jensen says. “He’s not going to blow up at anyone if he doesn’t even have the energy to move.”

“But?” the coach prompts.

“But…” Jensen lets his eyes wander over the trophies lining the walls. Looks like Hart is decent at horseback riding and track&field, but not so good with team sports. “Aren’t you worried that you’re gonna kill him? Like, even a little bit?”

Morgan shakes his head. “Jared has pretty much infinite energy resources to content with,” he says. “Trust me, if I wanted to kill him, I would not be trying to get him to work out more.” He tilts his head to the side. “There’s something else,” he says.

“Yeah,” Jensen says slowly. “Just, do you think it’s good for Jared? Feeling like you’re picking on him day after day?”

Morgan tilts his head at him, considers for a moment, then sighs. “No, I don’t. Honestly, I might be doing a whole lot more bad than good. But I can only try to rein Jared in to the best of my ability, and considering how volatile Jared is, I’m kind of afraid of what will happen if I don’t.”

Jensen has his head buried in his pillow, mostly asleep in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, when the door bursts open and Chace throws himself down on Jared’s bed.

“Hey man,” he says loudly.

Jensen blinks and lifts his head.

Jared rests the comic book he was reading on his chest. He turns his head and gives Chace a look. “What’s up?” he asks.

“Oh.” Chace grins, flash of white teeth, and wriggles around to lie on his back. “Have I got news for you.”

Jared smiles at Jensen over Chace’s mop of black hair and rolls his eyes. “Are you going to tell me, too?”

“Yes, I am.” He grins broadly, then leans over to stage whisper, “The girls are coming up.”

Jensen’s stomach drops sharply when he sees the delighted smile spread over Jared’s face.

“No way, man,” Jared says. He pushes at Chace’s shoulder. “Stop smirking and tell me when.”

“Your birthday,” Chace sing-songs.

Jared grins like Christmas just came six months early. “Sandy too?” he asks.

Chance nods, grinning wide, and Jensen can feel his stomach turn to ice. “Sandy McCoy?” he asks quietly.

Chace just frowns briefly in his direction, what a surprise, but the fact that Jared barely looks over when he mutters a dreamy, “Yeah,” is as unexpected as it is painful.

Sandy. Jensen would say he hates her, but it’s impossible to hate someone as sweet as Sandy. She’s adorable. She always remembers his birthday, even though they’re not even friends, and brings him a homemade cupcake with a candle on top. She’s president of the community service club at school and organizes adoption drives for abandoned pets. And Jared adores her more than anybody. Whenever someone mentions her, his eyes glaze over a little.

Jensen digs his toes into the sheets. He doesn’t want Sandy here, in his little bubble of soccer sanctity. It’s his personal heaven. Just eight straight weeks of no family, soccer, and Jared. And he is definitely not willing to share.


	3. Chapter 3

They beat the Melrose High Buffalos with an easy 1-0, Jared ducking past a distressed sweeper and simply nudging the ball into the corner of the goal in the 36th minute. It’s smooth sailing after that – the Buffalos stock up their defense but don’t try anything aggressive, so after 54 minutes of passing the ball from one team member to another, the Maroons advance to the next round.

Jared spends even longer than usual in the shower that night. Jensen wants to tease him for it, but the moment he gets out of the bathroom, Chase opens the door. “Hey Jared, you coming?”

“Oh, yeah.” Jared scrubs his towel over his head. “Sorry. Two minutes?”

“Fine,” Chase says, rolling his eyes, and leans against the doorjamb.

“Where are you going?” Jensen asks quietly. Jared taking off with the guys is a fairly regular occurrence, but it’s usually not this late. And they’re not supposed to be romping through the countryside after ten, anyway.

“Town,” Jared says. He pulls out a few messily folded t-shirts, looks at each in turn and drops them at his feet. “Shit,” he says. He turns Chase. “What are you wearing?”

Chase shakes his head. “This,” he says, gesturing down at his jeans and short-sleeved button-down. “Did you randomly turn into a girl or something?”

“Whatever,” Jared says. “Wait for me outside, okay? I’ll be there in a minute.”

Chase rolls his eyes but disappears, and Jared turns to Jensen. “What are you waiting for?” he asks. “Get dressed.”

There’s a small cluster of people in the trees by the basketball field. Jensen can see Chase, Hayden and Strait, Mike and Tom, Chris and Steve. They get nods and a few smiles, and after a few moments, they can hear footsteps coming their way. Jensen almost runs away screaming, but it turns out to just be PJ and Penn, and Chase nods.

“Is Adam coming?” he asks.

PJ shakes his head. “He isn’t feeling well,” he announces. “Killer headache, apparently. He’s staying in tonight.”

Someone says something along the lines of “pussy” and everybody laughs, but Jensen wishes he were that brave – brave enough to say no to the pleads and threats from his friends and Jared’s big, soulful eyes.

“Alright, let’s go,” Chase says, and they trudge off into the dark fields. They don’t say much until they get to the fence surrounding Hart’s grounds. It’s surprisingly easy to jump it, and as soon as they’re on the other side, the laughter starts.

A few minutes down the road Jared is up front, flanked by Hayden and Chase, cackling like he’s just heard the best joke of his entire life. Jensen scowls. This isn’t what he imagined when Jared told him to get ready.

He almost has a heart attack when an arm settles around his shoulders, but it’s just Mike. Tom falls into step at Jensen’s other side. 

“You, my friend,” Mike says, “are like that cute little hamster that just decided to go party with the cats.”

“Thanks,” Jensen says, but it comes out more squeaky than sarcastic.

Mike gives him a shake. “Seriously, will you lighten up? You’d think we’d just killed somebody.”

“I just don’t want us to _be_ killed.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “We just won our second game. We deserve to have a bit of fun.”

“You really think Morgan cares about that?”

“What’s Morgan gonna do?” Mike asks.

“What if he checks our rooms?’ Jensen asks.

Tom turns to give him a look. “When has Morgan ever checked our rooms?” he retorts.

“There’s always a chance,” Jensen mumbles into his collar.

Mike rolls his eyes, dramatically and extensively. “We’re just going to a bar, not to rob a bank.”

“I’m serious,” Jensen says. “We really shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Will you stop being such a girl?” Mike asks, loudly enough that a couple of people ahead turn around to look.

Jensen ducks his head quickly. It’s not his fault that he’s the only one who seems to care about what’ll happen if they get caught. Sneaking out is one thing. Not that he’s really any more comfortable with that, but at least it’s less of an idiotic idea than sneaking into a bar.

Good God, they are going to get their asses kicked.

By the time the first houses crop up along the road, Jensen has managed to come up with at least thirty different scenarios of how this night could end, none of which are very favorable. They multiply by about a million when he actually sees the bar, a place called _Johnny’s_ that looks more like a trailer home than a place where people go for some harmless fun. But there is a bouncer, the biggest, meanest-looking guy has ever seen, complete with grim reaper-tattoos on his arms and neck.

“How do you guys even know we’re going to get in?” Jensen asks, looking back over his shoulder.

Mike slings an arm around Jensen’s shoulder and gives the bouncer his biggest grin. “If we get thrown out because of you,” he whispers in Jensen’s conveniently close ear, “I’m kicking your ass the entire way home.”

Chase is the first up, shooting a quick, cocky grin over his shoulder, but Jensen can see the nervous way his eyes skitter over to the bouncer. He steps up onto the doorstep, hesitantly, ironically succeeding in looking even younger than he already is.

But, to everybody’s surprise, the bouncer doesn’t even twitch. Not with Chase, or Hayden, or Jared, and not even with Jensen even though he swallows when he walks in the door. He doesn’t stop anybody. Not even Penn, who totally looks like he’s a sophomore in high school.

Mike nudges Jensen with his elbow when they’re inside, and Jensen grins. _Johnny’s_ certainly doesn’t look any more special from the inside than it does the outside, with two carved up pool tables, a jukebox (Jensen didn’t think they even had those anymore), a pinball machine, and a couple of leather-lined booths along the walls.

Jensen nods to himself. Maybe this will even turn out to be fun.

Forty-five minutes later, fun still hasn’t even peeked its head in the door. Jensen is crammed into a booth with Mike, Tom, Steve, Chris, PJ and Penn, which is about five people too many. There are a few more people now, and from what he can hear over the general hubbub, PJ and Mike are trying to formulate a plan on how to get the barkeeper to serve them booze. At least he thinks so. He hasn’t tried to actually participate in the conversation for a good twenty minutes now.

He takes a look around for the others – and yes, for Jared. The guy is over by the pinball machine with Hayden and Chase. From the way they’re pointing and whispering, Jensen would say that they’re checking out the girl in the short leather skirt that’s currently draped all over the mustachio’d biker dude. Way to pick the one whose boyfriend is going to tear them apart.

Jensen rolls his eyes and glances away, over to the three older guys crowded around the pool table. One of them is lining up a shot, jeans stretching over his ass, and Jensen swallows heavily. It’s not like he’s a fag or anything. He’s never felt the need to prance down the road in a tank top, carrying a murse. It’s just, sometimes, when it’s late and the only light in his room comes from the traffic light down the road, he wonders.

He looks away, flushing, when the muscly guy sees him looking and nudges the one with the crazy hair with his elbow. God, he’s such a spaz. A spaz that’s gonna get his ass kicked any minute now. And sure enough, the guy wanders over and leans against the wall over Jensen’s head.

Jensen looks down at his hands. He’s harmless. Totally harmless.

“Hey, kid,” Crazy Hair says. He tilts his pool queue into Jensen’s hand and Jensen takes it, reflexively. “You wanna play?”

“I’m not really any good,” Jensen murmurs, wrapping his fingers around the wood as if it’s something strange and foreign.

Crazy Hair laughs and slaps his back. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure we can teach you a thing or two.”

Jensen doesn’t doubt it. In fact, he ponders while he stares at the guy’s lips, transfixed, these guys could teach him quite a bit about bending over the right way and lining up their hard rods with the hole.

He feels his cheeks turning flaming red when his brain catches up with his… little brain.

Crazy notices his expression of course and busts out laughing. “You’re a shy one, aren’t you?” he comments and leads Jensen over to the table, one arm slung over Jensen’s shoulder.

“A bit,” Jensen murmurs. He doesn’t think it’s really as funny as Spiky seems to find it.

“We’ll get you to open your mouth yet,” Crazy says, and that just… Oh God.

“Will you stop tormenting the kid?” Tight Jeans saves him, “Not everyone needs to yap as much as you do.”

He offers Jensen his hand. “I’m Jude. The blabbermouth is Paul.”

Paul. It’s strange how ordinary the name is when Jensen can feel every little twitch of the guy’s thigh against his hip and his hand seems to be burning straight through Jensen’s t-shirt.

"One of my friends' name is Paul," he says quickly to distract both them and himself from his discomfort. Then his brain catches up with his mouth and he is sorely tempted to smack himself. _One of my friends' name is Paul_. God. How much more retarded can he sound?

The Paul in front of him grins at him. “That’ll make it easy to remember then, yeah?”

Jensen smiles. He’s pretty sure his face is still flaming red, but at least he remembers to hold out his hand and say, “I’m Jensen.”

Paul closes his fingers around Jensen’s. He leaves them there far longer than strictly necessary. “Hello, Jensen,” he says solemnly.

Muscle doesn’t even try to offer Jensen his hand. He just winks and says, “Sean. You wannna play the next round with us?”

“I’ve never really played,” Jensen stammers once again.

Sean just shrugs. “You can play with Paul. That way, if you suck, the guy at least gets a little humility out of losing.”

“That’ll never happen,” Jude throws in drily.

Paul rolls his eyes. “You’re a real hoot, dick,” he says. He wraps his hand around Jensen’s wrist and tugs him around the table, pushes a pool queue into his hand.

“Alright, Jensen,” he says. “This is what you do…”

An hour and a bit later, Jensen is still giddy with excitement. He’s not good at pool but apparently he’s not all bad either, and when Paul sinks the black 8 with military precision, they’ve just won their third game in a row. It takes all of Jensen’s willpower not to hug the man.

Paul turns away to drain his beer, thank God, and then the other two guys make their way around the table. 

“We’re heading out,” Jude says, slinging his arm around the shorter man’s shoulder. “You gonna stay?”

Paul looks over at Jensen. Who flushes a brilliant scarlet, but Paul must have been able to read something on his face, in the wild potluck of feelings cramping up Jensen’s stomach, because he nods slowly. “A little bit, yeah,” he says.

“Alright,” Jude says, in that way that’s supposed to mean something only Jensen doesn’t know what. They shake hands with Paul, then Jensen (“Good to meet you, man.”) and disappear. Paul leans on his pool cue, gives Jensen a long, considering look, and Jensen turns red all the way up to his hair.

“Come on,” Paul says. “Let’s go outside for a minute. Cooler there.”

He doesn’t wait for Jensen to respond, just kind of goes and expects him to follow. Jensen knows that Paul probably isn’t just hoping for fresh air, he’s not retarded after all, and he tithers for a moment. Yes, no, maybe? He looks around for Jared, but all he sees is a mop off shaggy brown hair leaning in close to whatever Hayden’s saying. That answers that question, then. If Jared’s enjoying himself so damn much, well then so can Jensen. He doesn’t need Jared to have fun, after all.

By the time Jensen makes it outside, Paul is halfway across the parking lot. He looks back over his shoulder, face lighting up when he spots Jensen, and gestures for him to follow.

Butterflies explode in Jensen’s stomach. Paul is… he’s gorgeous. There’s no other word for it. Well, he’s hot, too, and he actually looks like a man, and oh God, Jensen can’t believe Paul actually wants him. Him, Jensen, who’s just this scrawny little high schooler. He has no idea what Paul could possibly see in him. Paul is attractive and cool and funny. Jensen just wants to kiss him. God, he wants to kiss him.

He catches up with the man at the far end of the lot, in an empty space between a pick-up and a muddy station wagon. It’s the perfect spot – secluded, but there’s space to move around. Paul leans against the side of the pick-up, stretches, fiddles with his belt. And Jensen stares.

Jensen knows the heavy heat in his belly is want, he’s not lying to himself for once. Yeah, he wants Paul. Wants those lips on his. Those hands on his skin. Wants to kiss another guy. But what if Paul wants more? Not only does Jensen not have any experience when it comes to anything except awkward fumbling in someone’s parents’ closet, but he’s always thought that that kind of stuff belonged in a relationship. At least at first. Until you knew what you were doing, and your one-night-stands weren’t going to laugh at you when you messed things up. He’s never given anyone a blow job! He doesn’t even know if Paul’s preoccupation with his belt is a demand or an offer or what. Why does he have to be such a loser?

He starts when Paul gives him a look.

“You alright there?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Jensen says, but he doesn’t even sound convincing to himself.

With a sigh, Paul sits down on the curb. He wriggles a bit and produces a battered pack of cigarettes before he throws a look over his shoulder. “You just gonna stand there?” he asks.

Jensen nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to sit down, so close that their knees bump together. He’s bright red, he can tell.

Paul holds out the pack to him. “Want one?” he asks.

Jensen shakes his head.

Paul gives him a considering look, stuffs the pack back into his pocket and sighs. “I’d invite you back to my place, but with my luck, you’re not even legal.”

Jensen’s blush says everything he can’t, and Paul sighs again. “Figures that the hottest piece of ass in that bar tonight would be jailbait.”

Jensen wraps his arms around his legs. “I didn’t, like, mean to lead you on or anything,” he says quickly.

Paul chuckles quietly. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I don’t think anybody could be less of a cock tease than you are.”

Jensen blushes all over again, even though he doesn’t even know what that’s supposed to mean. And then his heart explodes into a rapid drum beat because Paul is leaning in, tentatively, giving Jensen plenty of time to draw away. But he doesn’t. Jensen doesn’t, and a moment later Paul’s lips are on his, warm and soft and a bit sticky. He’s getting kissed. He’s kissing someone without any bottles or dares being involved. He’s… Jesus Christ, he’s gay.

Jensen hitches a breath and feels just the tip of Paul’s tongue slip into his mouth before the man pulls back and grins apologetically. “So much for my good intentions. I’m just a sucker for young and innocent.”

Jensen wants to protest that he is neither innocent nor _that_ young, but Paul just presses a kiss to his forehead and smiles ruefully. “I’ve gotta go before this gets out of hand. You’ll be okay on your own?”

Jensen nods.

Paul nods himself, runs a regretful hand through Jensen’s hair, mumbles, “So long,” and turns to leave. Jensen watches him go, cheeks burning and stomach tight, and wishes desperately that he were brave enough to run after him.

Jensen lies in bed, wide awake, when Jared slips into the room.

“Hey,” he says, a funny tone to his voice.

Jensen stops staring at the ceiling long enough to catch his uncertain expression. “Hey,” he replies. “Have fun?”

“Yeah. You left, though.” There is clear accusation in Jared’s voice and Jensen winces. The last of the happy butterflies in his stomach disappear and leave only cold, knot-hard confusion in their wake.

“I wasn’t really having fun.”

“You looked like you were having fun.”

“When we were with the others, I mean.”

Jared grunts something and sits down on the end of his bed to pull off his shoes and socks. He refuses to meet Jensen’s eyes.

“What is your deal?” Jensen asks. “I wasn’t enjoying myself so I left. It wasn’t like you noticed.” He cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth – too hurtful, too harmful. Giving too much away.

To his surprise, Jared just nods. He licks his lips before he opens his mouth. “Jensen, you. Are you-? You liked him, didn’t you?”

He sounds so stilted and vaguely hurt that Jensen sits up and starts picking at the bedspread. “I guess,” he mutters after a moment. “He was cool.”

Even as dark as it is, Jared still looks away. “The others said you’d gone back already,” he says quietly, “But you went with him, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Jensen protests. “I did go back. Paul… he didn’t-“

“He didn’t what?”

Jared’s voice, suddenly hard and cold, brings Jensen up short. He feels anger flare up in his belly. Who the hell is Jared to disapprove? He’s the one that dragged Jensen out to the damn bar and then left him to the mercy of Chase and Strait's mocking stares. “He didn’t fuck me, okay?” he says. “I wanted him to, but he didn’t.”

The lie is heavy and thick in his belly, choking him. He ignores the feeling and meets Jared’s glare head-on.

“That’s statutory rape,” Jared says.

“He _didn’t do anything_ ,” Jensen says loudly. “Jared, god, if it bothers you that I’m-“

Jared’s lips on his cut off what Jensen was about to say. For a moment, Jensen’s entire world narrows down to Jared’s soft skin under his mouth. Then Jared jerks back, eyes wide. His lips part slightly, bright pink, a smudge of Jensen’s spit on the lower one.

“Jay?” Jensen says softly.

Jared jumps as if Jensen had yelled it. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, tripping over his discarded shoes and a jersey on the floor before he stumbles into the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him.

Jensen blinks a couple of times. He sinks back onto the bed and tries to figure out what on earth just happened, but the most intelligent thing his brain can come up with is that _Jared kissed him_. It seems like he lies awake forever, going over everything again and again, but when he finally does start to doze off, Jared still hasn’t come back out.

Jensen wakes tangled up in his sheets the next morning, the bedcover untucked from his fretful fidgeting and his hair a rumpled mess. Jared’s bed is neatly made. The bathroom door stands halfway open, lights off.

Jensen gets dressed slowly, waiting for Jared to burst in the door while he’s tying the drawstring of his shorts or running a comb through his hair. He doesn’t, though. It’s just Jensen, by himself, puttering around the room, wandering down to the dining hall, and that’s where he finally sees Jared again.

Or his back, anyway. He’s sitting with Hayden, Strait and Chase, turned away from Jensen like he refuses to even acknowledge his existence. Jensen can’t even remember the last time he and Jared didn’t save each other seats.

Biting down on his lip, Jensen looks around. Steve and Chris are at a table with Tom and Mike, no room left for Jensen. There’s an empty chair over at Zac and Khleo’s table, but they both like to do terrible The Shining impressions all the freaking time, and there are just some things that Jensen can’t take at eight in the morning. 

And the longer Jensen just stands there, doing nothing, the more eyes drift away from breakfast and settle on him.

He shuffles over to Zac and Khleo, half-debating just sitting down with them anyway, but they look at him with such astonishment that he can’t make himself. “Excuse me, guys,” he mutters and grabs a chair. It’s heavy and must be made from metal because it gives an earsplitting shriek when Jensen drags it over to Chris and Steve. 

Everybody’s openly staring at him now. Even the kitchen staff restocking the buffet. Everybody except Jared.

Jensen wedges his chair between Chris and Mike and shrinks into it, eyes burning. Even his friends frown at him, eyes saying, _What on Earth are you doing?_ , and Jensen smiles weakly. “Morning,” he says.

“Hey,” Steve says slowly, but he’s the only one.

Actually getting food is another agonizing experience. Jensen is sure that every pair of eyes in the room must be burning into his back, and he fumbles with serving spoons and tongs, getting only half as much as he usually does just because he can’t stand being up there anymore. Eating his food is awkward and terrible, bumping elbows with his neighbors every time he moves, almost knocking Mike’s juice over when he shifts his plate, and by the end of it, they’re all frustrated and Jensen’s face is flaming red.

But of course the day doesn’t get any better. How could it? It’s Jensen’s life, after all.

They’re doing one-on-one’s this morning. Jensen’s paired with Adam, his back-up, both trying to outmaneuver the other. They’re pretty evenly matched which makes Jensen a little proud but is also frustrating. And then Adam feints left and Jensen steals the ball from him, goes left himself and sprawls headlong over Adam’s outstretched leg.

It’s nothing mind blowing, of course, people eat dirt all the time, but Jensen can still feel everyone’s eyes on him when he pushes himself up. Everyone’s but Jared’s, who’s toying with his and Chase’s ball with his toes. Jensen’s elbow – now missing a significant layer of skin – throbs and his chin hurts from hitting the ground first.

After a moment of everone standing there, silent, Morgan comes wandering over. “Is this worth having to run laps?” he asks loudly, and within seconds, everyone goes back to being busy with their balls.

Justin takes Jensen’s good elbow. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says.

Adam trails along behind them, ball under his arm. “I’m sorry, Jensen,” he says.

“Not your fault,” Jensen tells him when Justin pushes him to lean against the table that they keep their water coolers on and starts going to work on Jensen’s arm. He hisses when whatever antiseptic torture method Justin has in that first aid box of his comes into contact with his grass-stained arm, and Adam winces in sympathy.

Justin wipes the last stains from Jensen’s arm and hands him a cleaning wipe for his chin.

“You good?” Morgan asks.

Jensen nods.

Morgan smiles at him, briefly, before nodding towards the others. “Well, then, back to work.”

Jensen lets Adam lead the way to their old spot. His arm still stings, but it’s not that big of a deal. It’s not the part that hurts the most.

“What’s up the dream team?” he hears Justin ask Morgan. “I was all ready for Jared earning himself penalty laps by hovering and worrying until Jensen was fixed up, but the kid didn’t even _look_.”

When the rest of his team heads in for lunch, Jensen lags back. His stomach growls at him but he can’t make himself head into the dining room, so instead he sneaks into his room for a candy bar and finds a shady spot underneath a tree. He stares at his phone for a moment, lost in thought, before he presses the green button twice.

It only rings once before his mom says, “Donna Ackles.”

“Hi momma,” he says.

“Hey baby,” she replies. “How are you?”

“Good.” He hesitates. He can hear pots and pans clinking in the background and imagines her standing in the kitchen, dicing eggplant on her grandmother’s cutting board with the flowers carved into it, phone tucked in the crook between cheek and shoulder. He almost asks her what she’s wearing to complete the picture in his mind, but thankfully his brain catches up with his mouth before he can. “What are you making?” he asks instead.

“Vegetable stir fry.” She laughs. “The one you don’t like.”

“With the beans?” He makes sure she can hear his disgust. “That’s gross, momma.”

“You can’t complain if I’m not making you eat it,” she says, laughing still. “Why aren’t you at lunch, sweetie?”

Jensen’s witty retort dies on his lips. “I-“ He clears his throat. “I didn’t feel like it.”

Of course she’s automatically on Mom Alert. He hears her put down the knife. “Is something wrong?” she asks.

With that, all of Jensen’s composure simply evaporates. He slumps his shoulders and lets his head drop down to rest on his knees. “Jared kissed me,” he says.

He can almost see her freeze. “Jared?” she asks. “Your Jared?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “We were arguing, and he just… kissed me. And now he won’t talk to me.”

“He kissed you. On the mouth.”

“Well, yeah, momma,” Jensen says. He shifts uncomfortably. “You know. A real kiss.”

“Is he-” She hesitates. “You know. Is he like that?”

“Gay?” Jensen asks. “You can say it, momma. It’s not a dirty word.”

“I know, I know.” The clinking noises start up again, more forcefully this time. “I just didn’t expect it. He’s such a strapping young man. You wouldn’t think it when you look at him.”

“All I know is that he kissed me,” Jensen says firmly. He doesn’t want to hear her say stuff like that. It conjures up images of another conversation he might have to have with her, about certain boys liking other boys, and it makes him sick to his stomach. “And he won’t even look at me now.”

“I’m sure he’s not doing it to hurt you,” she says, and that’s the momma he knows and loves. “Maybe he just needs some time. Having those kinds of feelings for your best friend has got to be confusing.”

“Yeah,” Jensen says, completely heartfelt.

“So you had no idea that he liked you that way?” she asks.

Jensen shakes his head. “Not at all.”

“Does it bother you?” He hears the knife scrape across the cutting board, probably pushing vegetable slices into her big pan. “You still want to be his friend, right?”

“Of course I do,” Jensen says, outraged. “It’s Jared!”

“That’s the most important part.” He can hear the smile in her voice. “Go talk to him. I’m sure you guys can work it out.”

“I hope so.” Jensen rubs his hand over his eyes. “I don’t know what I’ll do if we can’t.”

“You may have to find out,” she says, suddenly serious. “He may not want to be ‘just friends’, Jensen. He may ask you for all or nothing, and you’ll have to accept that.”

“Yeah.” He swallows. “I have to go back to practice.”

“Okay,” she says. “You’ll figure it out. I have faith in you.”

“Thanks, momma,” he says quietly. “Love you.”

He waits for her to return it and hangs up. Then he sighs, long and heartfelt. It definitely seems like Jared wants to go back to being ‘just friends’. Why would he go around acting like nothing ever happened otherwise?

It looks like it’s just Jensen who doesn’t want to go back to that.

The days that follow are possibly the worst of Jensen’s life. At least when his parents got divorced, people expected him to be upset. They weren’t happy about it, of course, but they didn’t stare at him like he’d grown a second head every time he scowled. Here, now, his entire team seems to watch him with eagle eyes, trying to figure out what happened that led to the sudden, icy silence between him and Jared. And no doubt they’re blaming him for it, too, because with the way Jared’s giving him the cold shoulder, it’s gotta be Jensen’s fault, right?

Jensen can’t decide who he’s more mad at: his team, for being dumbasses who can’t mind their own business, or Jared for causing the whole damn drama in the first place.

And in all honesty, Jensen is kind of miserable. Kiss or no kiss, Jared is his best friend, and the fact that Jared has taken to sleeping on the floor in Hayden and Strait’s room stings like a motherfucker. Jared’s going all-out, too: playing basketball with the guys at every opportunity, laughing too loudly at mealtimes, even passing to other players even though Jensen’s in the ideal spot just to avoid catching his eye. He doesn’t even seem to care that Morgan’s livid, nodding through the man’s speeches and running his laps and then doing it all over again.

Well, Jensen can take a hint. He stays in his room most of the time, ignoring Chris and Steve until they go away. He watches old files on his camcorder until that grows to be too depressing, and then he makes a pro and cons list of professional soccer versus college. That’s even more depressing, because the college side  
definitely has more pros than soccer does. He makes a thirty second stop-motion video of his cleats kicking a ball around. For a while, he even debates stealing Jared’s iPod and listening to the mopiest Katy Perry songs he can find, but that’s a little too gay, even for him.

He feels a sharp flare of relief when there’s a knock at the door one night before he remembers that Jared wouldn’t do that – it’s his room too, after all. He levers himself upright and stumbles over to the door, wishing to God that Jared just turned inexplicably shy, but it’s not him.

“Have you seen Jared?” he asks the shadow slipping past him.

“I’m not your watchdog,” Chris says. “You wanna know where your boyfriend is, go find him yourself.” He ignores the way Jensen turns a beautiful shade of cherry-red, or maybe he doesn’t notice.

“I’m just…” Jensen mumbles.

Chris raises his brows at him. When Jensen doesn’t continue, he shakes his head. “Son, seems like you need to get out of the house.”

“I don’t know about this,” Jensen says when he edges into the room to find Steve sitting on the ledge of the open window, the tip of his cigarette glowing orange in the darkness. He tries to turn around, but Chris catches his shoulders and propels him forward.

“Just sit down and shut it,” he says. He closes the door behind them and gives Jensen a not-so-gently push towards the bed. “You’re not gonna get in any trouble.”

“You don’t know that,” Jensen says, but the edge of the bed already presses against his shins, so he sits down.

Chris gets a cigarette out of his pocket and gets right into Steve’s personal space to light it tip-to-tip, hands cupped around the two ends. “I know,” he says. His voice is thick with smoke. “Trust me, okay? I know.”

Jensen frowns but lies down when Steve mentions towards the bed and mumbles, “Make yourself comfortable.”

He tilts his head at the pair of them. “What am I doing here?” he asks.

“Not being a lonely loser,” Chris tells him. He takes a deep drag, sighs, and hands the smoke to Steve when Steve stubs out his own.

“We just don’t want you hanging out with those pretty boys all the time,” Steve says. “Us country guys gotta stick together.”

For a moment, Jensen blanks on what he means, but then he remembers that one day at Chris’ cousin’s wedding when the three of them did a gig as a “band”. He tries to avoid thinking about that, actually. He has enough self-esteem issues as it is.

Chris nods decisively. “Move over.” He pushes at Jensen’s shoulder and flops down next to him, face-down in the pillow. He lets out an explosive sigh. “Everything hurts,” he moans.

“You wouldn’t be if you did the warm-up right,” Jensen says, but quietly. He doesn’t want to sound like he’s preaching.

“Warm-up is bullshit,” Chris says. “It’s only a coupla more weeks anyway. Then no more soccer for me.”

“You’re not going to keep playing?” Jensen asks him, shocked. He sits up and stares down at Chris’ unruly mop of hair, casts a help-seeking look at Steve.

Chris rolls over and scoffs. “Why would I?” he asks. “Steve and me, we’re certainly not going to college, and we’re not going to get recruited by any scouts.”

“Don’t say that,” Jensen chides. His stomach is cold like that time his brother dared him to swallow a sno-cone whole. “You don’t know that for sure.”

“Oh, I know,” Chris tells him. “We’re not good enough to play professionally,” he says. “We can’t all be you, Jensen.”

“We don’t want to play professionally,” Steve throws in. “Soccer is fun, but it isn’t our life.” He reaches over and softly slugs Jensen in the shoulder. “So relax.”

“I can’t relax,” Chris whines up at him. “I’m in too much pain.”

Steve shrugs. “Tough.”

“If I were home, I could soak in the hot tub,” Chris says. He grins at the ceiling, like it’s a magical window to wherever his hot tub is. “Or go get a blow job. 

Those’re relaxing.”

“Have you ever even had a blow job?” Steve scoffs.

Chris scowls at him in indignation. “Excuse me?” he asks. “Marnette Patterson, remember her? She blew me out on the porch. Before we went upstairs.” He goes back to grinning at the ceiling. “Such a cute nose.”

Jensen envisions Marnette Patterson’s head floating somewhere above them and swallows a laugh.

“Oh yeah.” Steve lights up another cigarette. “Forgot about her.”

Chris shakes his head with a dreamy sigh. “As long as I live, I will never forget about her.”

“Yeah, yeah, cute nose,” Steve says. “We get it.”

“How about you, Jen?” Chris asks. His breath ghosts hot across Jensen’s shoulder. “You ever done it with a girl?”

Jensen can see the moonlight reflected in the dark pool of Chris’ eyes. He bites his lip.

“But you’ve made out with one,” Chris says.

“Yeah.” Jensen hopes to God he sounds affronted instead of mortified. He really doesn’t want to have this conversation. He has made out with a girl, yes, even with a bit of tongue – hers – and then he’d choked on it and beat a hasty retreat before she could try again.

Paul, though. Jensen had completely forgotten about him with all the drama, but that was definitely a first kiss he wants to remember.

“Okay, okay, man,” Chris says, “Didn’t mean to offend.” His keeps his voice soft, like he’s trying not to spook Jensen. “Making out’s a good start. But you didn’t get laid?”

His throat uncomfortably tight, Jensen nods. Why didn’t he just stay in his room tonight? Why didn’t he go find Jared?

“You want to?” Chris asks.

Jensen chews his lips. How is he supposed to answer that question? If he says yes (and he really doesn’t), they might try to hook him up, but if he says no, won’t that tell them more than he himself can say?

“You offering?” he finally settles on, quiet and unsure. Offering to hook him up, he means.

To his surprise, both Steve and Chris bust out laughing.

“Oh, that was priceless,” Steve says, wiping his eyes. “He got you where it hurts.”

“Didn’t know you had it in you.” Chris grins. He yells a startled “Hey!” when Steve tosses something at his head.

“He’s right, though,” Steve says. “You sounded like a giant pansy, saying it like that. All seductive whisper and lying in bed with him and shit. Total girl.” He points a finger at Jensen. “Kudos for calling him on it.”

Jensen grins awkwardly. He’d never admit it, of course, but for a moment, with Chris’ lips so close to his and his eyes alight with a wicked shine, he was actually tempted.

Jensen can’t deny that he was kind of hoping for Jared to just snap out of his funk, but he doesn’t. He won’t talk to Jensen even when they do run into each other in the room, ignores the empty seat next to Jensen at meal times to go sit with PJ, Penn and Adam.

Jared doesn’t even _like_ PJ all that much.

Still, it takes several days for Jensen to snap. Until the day before Jared’s birthday, in fact, the day they’re all supposed to go back to _Johnny’s_ and meet the girls. Thirty minutes until practice is over and they’re doing three-on-threes, and Jensen keeps getting the ball stolen from him because he’s so distracted. After the fourth time, Morgan tuts at him, and Jensen flushes bright red. Then he turns around and sees Jared and Hayden whispering together, laughing, and he can’t take it anymore.

“What the fuck is your problem, man?” he says loudly.

“The fuck’s yours?” Jared asks back.

“Oh, like you don’t know,” Jensen sneers.

“Like you don’t know,” Jared apes him, voice high-pitched and mocking.

Behind him, Hayden, Chase and Strait all start laughing, cheering Jared on for being such an ass, and Jensen has had enough.

He takes a swing that Jared dodges, but Jared’s reach is longer and he gets Jensen in the belly. Jensen gasps and doubles over, but he grabs hold of Jared going down and a moment later they’re both rolling on the grass, trying to get the upper hand.

It doesn’t take Jensen long to realize that this was a phenomenally stupid idea. Slim as he is, Jared has about four or five inches on him, and he’s less likely to pull his punches than Jensen is. At least he isn’t actually clobbering Jensen, just sort of smacking at his face, which is more humiliating but a good deal less painful. Still, Jensen’s ears are ringing and his eyes watering when Justin and Tom lift Jared off of him. Jared kicks his legs, but Morgan’s arm snakes around Jared’s torso, the other hand pressing down on the back of his neck, forcing his head forward – keeping him off-balance. Jensen can’t hear what he whispers into Jared’s ear, but Jared only twitches weakly in his hold before falling quiet.

Then Justin and Tom heave Jensen upright, taking an arm each, and Jensen gets to stand there with a bloody lip and dirt streaked all over with everybody staring at him.

God, he’s such an idiot. The biggest idiot alive, possibly, considering the look Morgan gives him. Like he expected this from Jared, but Jensen should have known better. And he totally should have. Shit.

Shaking his head, Morgan pushes Jared toward the track. “Ten laps, go. Jensen, go sit on the bleachers.”

Jensen does, appalled, feeling like a little kid that just got sent to sit on the naughty step. Behind him, he can hear Morgan and Justin trying to reestablish some sort of order, get the drill going again, but he can still feel people’s eyes on him.

He sits down on the lowest bench of the bleachers and drops his face into his hands. He’s just the king of retarded, isn’t he? He just got his ass handed to him in front of the entire team, and it’s not even like it did him any good. If anything, Jared is even less likely to talk to him now.

When he looks up, Jared is halfway around the track, and Morgan’s heading straight for him. Jensen flushes bright red. What his coach must think of him now.

“Jensen,” Morgan says heavily.

“I’m sorry,” Jensen says immediately.

“I figured,” Morgan replies. “But ‘sorry’ isn’t going to fix everything, you know?”

“I know,” Jensen says quickly. “But I am. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I have an idea,” Morgan rumbles, and Jensen wishes he would explain it to him because _he_ certainly doesn’t, but Morgan adds, “But that doesn’t make it okay.”

“Of course,” Jensen says.

“I can’t have a team captain who smacks his players around just because he’s having a hissy fit, you got that?”

Jensen bows his head to hide his panic. He didn’t think of that when he started shoving Jared around. God, he’s such an idiot. Of course Morgan’s going to have to find another captain now. Of course he is.

Jensen swallows hard and lifts his head. “Got it, Coach,” he says. He’s not going to cry. Not before he’s back in the safety of his shower.

“Good,” Morgan says. “So it better not happen again.”

“Yes, sir,” Jensen says quickly.

Morgan nods slowly. “Oh, and do me a favor,” he says. “Work out whatever’s the matter with you two.”

“Okay,” Jensen says. He’s tried, he has, but he’ll try harder if that’s what he needs to do to stay captain.

“Good.” Morgan gives him a measured look. “If you two don’t work, then nothing works, you got that?”

“Yes, sir,” Jensen says once again, sighing.

“Good.” Morgan nods. “You can start when Jared’s done.”

Jared takes forever. Jensen is pretty sure he’s taking his sweet time just to ensure that Jensen gets to sit in the sun for as long as possible. Once Jared finally trudges off towards the locker room, Jensen starts running as quickly as he can, but the sun is still dipping down towards the horizon when he’s done.

He takes too long showering the grime and disappointment from his skin and gets to the dining room when the kitchen hands are already clearing everything away. He snags an apple from a tray but that’s all he can get, and isn’t that just the perfect ending to the second most horrible day Jensen has ever had?

Jared’s gone when he gets back, what a surprise, and Jensen flops down on his bed. It’s past nine already – they’re probably all at the bar now, Jared and the others and the girls, drinking sodas and playing pool and flirting. It hurts more than it should. Not just that no one thought to wait for him, but the thought that Jared is somewhere out there, enjoying himself, having a good time, without a single thought to spare for Jensen’s misery.

Most days, Jensen doesn’t mind being a loner. He’s well aware that he’s a little socially awkward and a lot shy, and that social butterfly has never been a career option for him. And he’s mostly okay with that. Yeah, sometimes it’d be nice if people were hounding him to come out with them the way they do with Jared, but Jensen kind of likes being left alone. It means he can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. There’s nobody getting on his case when he doesn’t feel like going out, and nobody ragging on him when he’d rather see a movie than go get drunk.

Sometimes, though, he wishes he were more like Jared. Jared with his infectious laughter, with his wide smiles and stupid pranks, his ability to out-babble anyone and his eternally sunny attitude. There’s just something beautiful about the way he grins. Like nothing could ever go wrong in the world as long as Jared still has something to smile about.

Yeah, well, he hasn’t been smiling much lately, has he?

Unable to shake the feeling that he did something wrong, somehow, Jensen digs out his phone. He tries his mom’s number and gets redirected to voicemail twice before he remembers that she’s in her horticulture group meeting. Today’s topic is trimming roses, and she had sounded so excited about it that he immediately feels bad for calling her even though he didn’t even get though.

And wouldn’t that just make the guys laugh, that instead of fighting for his friend, he’s hiding out in his room, trying to call his momma. Not that they’d be surprised, because they all already think he’s a momma’s boy. And maybe he is. But fuck them all anyway.

He scrolls down through his contacts – his momma, his cousin Molly, Mac –

Jensen hits _send_ before he can change his mind. It rings, once, twice, and then his baby sister answers. She sounds older. Not like, _old_ old, but more mature. It’s weird.

“Hey, Mac,” he says.

“Jensen.” She’s surprised, he can tell, but not necessarily in a bad way. Maybe a good surprise. “What’s up?”

“Just, you know.” Jensen glances around for something to occupy his fidgety hands. “Just wanted to see how it's going.”

“Josh has a new girlfriend,” she says immediately. “He tries to be all nonchalant about it, but she’s literally all he talks about now.”

Jensen half expects her to ask him if he’s managed to get a girlfriend yet, but she doesn’t. She’s just quiet for a little while, and then she says, “Summer is sort of boring, you know.”

“Maybe for you,” Jensen says. His summer may be turning out to be a lot of things, from absolute heaven to absolute hell, but boring is definitely not one of them.

“Yeah, I know,” she says. “You think soccer camp is the greatest thing since sliced bread.”

“It’s the championships,” he says. “Not soccer camp.”

“Whatever,” she says. “You’re still creaming your pants about chasing a ball around.”

“Mac,” Jensen says, scandalized. She’s thirteen. She’s not supposed to know about these things.

She scoffs at him but doesn’t tell him to shove off the way she usually does, and a thick silence settles between them.

“There’s a new frozen yogurt place that’s opened up, right by our house,” she blurts suddenly.

 _Dad’s house_ , Jensen thinks but doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to fight with her right now. Not when they’re having an actual conversation for the first time in ages.

“We could go, sometime. When you’re back. You could get cherry-chocolate.” She hesitates. “That’s still your favorite, right?”

“Of course,” Jensen says. The truth is, he hasn’t bothered with FroYo for months – there’s not really anyone for him to go with, and he definitely doesn’t want to be the guy who goes to desert places by himself – but he can’t make himself tell her that. And it’s not just that he doesn’t want her to think of her big brother as a lonely loser.

He misses her. Not the way he misses his momma, or how he misses Jared when he’s not around. It’s not a constant pain that makes every breath a little more work. No, it’s a quiet sort of pain, the kind that you can almost forget you had until someone reminds you that you’re in pain, and then it hits you like a sledgehammer. He misses Mac. He misses her obnoxious narration of everything she does, like he’s not right there watching her do it (“And now, the peanut butter. The peanut butter that’s not on the shelf, where it should be. Wheeere is it? The fridge, maybe? I should check the fridge, in case _some idiot_ put it in the wrong place again.”), he misses the sparkling fingernail polish that’s been trampled into the carpet, her misses her hyena laugh when she watches Sex and the City even though she’s not supposed to.

“Yeah,” he says finally, slowly. “That’d be good.”

“Good.” She laughs. “And thanks for calling, _finally_. We thought you might have dropped off the face of the Earth.”

“You won’t get rid of me that easy,” Jensen says, and she hangs up still giggling.

Jensen puts his phone down, but the conversation keeps spinning in his head. He doesn’t give up that easily. He doesn’t. He might not have any self-confidence, but he’s stuck it out with soccer even though nobody respects him and he’s stuck with his momma even though they might starve if she doesn’t get off her flower spree soon. 

That’s Jensen’s thing: He perseveres.

He sits up and fumbles for his glasses. Fuck this. He might not be Mr. Popular, but he has just as much of a right to be at the bar as everybody else. They don’t own it. It isn’t like Junior High where everybody got invited to the first awkward parties except for Jensen. They can’t stop him from going, and they can’t stop him from enjoying himself. And fuck Jared, anyway. He’s the one who kissed Jensen, after all, and not the other way around. If anything, Jared should be the one apologizing.

He pulls on jeans and a t-shirt, shoes and socks, and runs a comb through his hair – it doesn’t help much – before bolting out the door with his camera. He is going to go to that damn bar and he is going to have a good time, Jared or no Jared.

Just you watch him.

Jensen can hear the noise from the bar from several blocks away. Groups of people have spilled out the door, more people than you’d expect in a town this size, smoking and talking, making out against dust-browned pick-ups.

Jensen quickens his step, trying to look like he belongs here, and nods to the bouncer when he gets to the door, but the guy’s reading GQ and not even looking his way.

Inside it’s beer-sticky and hot, crowded with people, but he still spots Sandy almost immediately. She sits on a bar stool next to Katie, daintily sipping her soda through a straw. She looks gorgeous tonight, they all do, Sandy in a dark blue glittery top with plenty of cleavage to fill it out. He could go over and say hi, he supposes, but he’s not sure he can smile at her and actually look like he means it.

So he does the cowardly thing and ducks into the crowd. He scuttles over to the wall and pretends to tie his laces until Alexis flounces over and drags Sandy away, then he stands and heads over to the booth where he’s spotted a certain brown Stetson. It takes a minute to push past the heavy-set biker dudes with their even scarier looking women, but he makes it through without getting his ass kicked, and over to where Chris, Steve, Mike, PJ and Adam all sit, crowded together over a couple of sodas. They look like they’re having the times of their lives, and isn’t that just peachy?

“Hey guys,” Jensen says.

“Jensen,” Chris says. His surprised tone just makes the cold anger in Jensen’s belly grow a little more. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“What, ‘cause I’m no fun?” Jensen asks him icily.

Chris frowns at him, but Jensen really can’t be bothered to listen to him justify himself right now. He pushes away from the table and into the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of tall, dark and friendly, but he can’t spot Jared anywhere. He takes a couple of steps towards the bathroom when he feels a light touch on his shoulder.

It’s Sandy, smiling at him hopefully. 

He forces a smile on his face. “Hi Sandy,” he says.

“Hey,” she says. “Have you seen Jared?” She sounds a little hurt, like she was expecting him to be here and he stood her up, and Jensen can just barely resist a smile.

“I’ve been looking for him all night, but I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Sorry,” Jensen says. He’s not really, at least not because _Sandy_ can’t find Jared, but it seems like a better response than, ‘No, and I hope you die.’ He shrugs. “Have you checked the bathroom?”

Sandy shrugs helplessly. “Will you do it?” she asks.

Jensen shakes his head quickly before his people-pleaser mode kicks in. As unhappy as he is with this snarky thing he’s got going right now, as disappointed as his momma would be, it’s kind of nice to not bend over backwards for other people. “I gotta go,” he says. “Sorry.”

“Okay,” he hears her stutter behind him, but he doesn’t turn around. Instead he pushes into the crowd, away from her. It only takes him a couple of minutes to determine that Jared isn’t here – the way Hayden scowls at him when they lock eyes for a moment says it all. Then he almost has a heart attack when he thinks he sees Paul, something he hadn’t even considered, but it turns out to be just another spiky haired guy.

Letting out a deep breath, Jensen dodges past the bouncer and out into the night air. Well, that was successful. The only thing to come out of the entire night was that he got to be mean to Sandy, and he already feels like an ass about it. It’s not her fault Jensen happens to be in love with Jared who happens to be in love with her.

“Hey there,” somebody – a male somebody – says, but Jensen just starts walking. Past the houses, and the dark corner store, the bus stop riddled with graffiti. Usually getting back from somewhere always feels so much shorter than going there did, but this time it’s the other way around. Every step seems to take forever, and he thinks it must be midnight by the time he gets to the iron fence that isolates Hart Academy from the rest of the world.

The grounds are quiet. They’re so far from civilization out here that Jensen can’t even hear cars rushing by somewhere, the way he always can in Austin. There are no city lights to brighten the darkness. Even the school is dark, everyone pretending to be asleep while partying the night away a few miles over.

He’s willing to bet money Jared hasn’t gone back to their room. Not with Jensen’s new leper status. Jensen wanders over to the soccer field, but he can’t see him anywhere. With a sigh, fiddling with his camera, he starts to wander farther out. He crosses the basketball courts and heads out past the garden Hart students use for Applied Biology or Sustainable Living or whatever. He can’t make himself go back to their room (too depressing), and he can’t find Jared, and Morgan probably already checked their rooms and called all their parents, so he might as well go for a late-night walk.

And naturally, right when he stops looking for Jared is when he finds him. Jensen steps out onto the baseball field, lets his gaze sweep around, and he’d know the hunched form on the top bench of the bleachers anywhere.

Jared doesn’t look like he’s enjoying himself. If anything, he looks miserable enough to curl up in a ball and die, and this is Jared. He doesn’t _do_ miserable. 

Not without being in some serious physical pain.

Jensen climbs halfway up the bleachers and stops. “Hey,” he says quietly.

Jared looks up. “Hey,” he says. He doesn’t smile.

“People are looking for you,” Jensen says. The metal he’s standing on creaks when he shifts his feet.

Jared picks at a speck of invisible dust on his knee. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Jensen fidgets again. “Look,” he says quickly, before he can lose his nerve. “I’m sorry I punched you, okay?”

“Tried to,” Jared corrects. He’s still pissed, Jensen can tell.

“Yeah, whatever,” Jensen mumbles. He slowly lifts his camera out of its case, as carefully as he can with only one hand. “There’s a file on here that I want you to watch,” he says. “MOV117. I mean, you don’t have to, obviously. But I’d appreciate it.”

Jared blinks at him, and Jensen swallows. “I mean, if nothing else, you get to watch me make a complete ass out of myself for a couple of minutes, right?”

Jared actually cracks a smile at that, and the choking knot in Jensen’s chest loosens at the sight. He holds the camera out to Jared. “Just watch it, okay?”

Jared nods, slowly, and Jensen lets out a slow, drawn-out breath.

“I’ll just, go then, yeah?” he says.

Jared keeps his dark eyes on him but doesn’t reply, and Jensen fidgets.

“Yeah,” he says. He gestures over his shoulder with his thumb, almost falls off the bleachers turning around and walks away before he can do something _really_ embarrassing. Once he’s back on solid ground he looks back over his shoulder but Jared isn’t watching anything. He just fiddles with the camera, turning it over and over in his hands, and Jensen walks away before he can fuck things up even more.

_”Why am I doing this?” on-screen Jensen asks. He’s sitting on the couch with a biology textbook, bare feet tucked under a pillow. There’s a giant frown on his face._

_“And you’d better be careful with that camera.”_

_A deep sigh comes from off-screen. Then Mackenzie, sounding just as annoyed as Jensen, says, “’Cause I’m writing something on sports for my English composition class, and my teacher wants us to bring in proof. You’re my proof. Suck it up.”_

_“Why do I put up with you?” Jensen groans at no one in particular._

_“Because we’re related,” Mac snipes back. “Trust me, you wouldn’t be my first choice either.”_

_“Way to butter me up,” Jensen says, all sarcasm, but he sounds a little hurt._

_“Jensen,” Mac says, drawn-out and frustrated. “Just, tell me about Jared, all right?”_

_“Fine.” Jensen lets his book slump into his lap. “Jared’s one of our two main strikers. He’s fifteen, he’s a Cancer, and he’s taking English Comp 2 before English Comp 1 because his mom’s the only one teaching it this year.”_

_“Jensen,” Mac says, low and promising an agonizing death, and Jensen rolls his eyes._

_“I mean, yeah, you’d probably think he’s cute, and I’m sure he is, but that’s not the most important part, you know? There’s just so much more to him. He’s loyal, and friendly, and when he’s playing he always gives 530 percent. And as soon as coach blows the whistle, he’s his old goofball self. And yeah, he has a temper, but everybody’s gotta have some kind of flaw, right?”_

_With a sigh, Jensen shoves his book off his lap and leans back, crosses his arms behind his head. “Yeah, he’s intense. Like, really, really focused. On everything. More than me, to be honest.”_

_He hesitates. “Really intense. Like, you know how sometimes you play videogames and you get really into it and you can’t eat or sleep until you figured out how to beat the boss?”_

_“That’s stupid, Jensen!” Mac’s voice cuts in. “I play Minesweeper, okay?”_

_Jensen just rolls his eyes. “Well, that’s how Jared is. With, like, life. He just gets so into it, you know. Like there’s nothing worth doing if you’re not doing it with everything you got.”_

_“So he’s a whack-job,” Mac comments._

_Jensen just smiles quietly. “He’s just… He’s something else.”_

_“Like…”_

_“Like, he’s the only person I’ve ever known who would literally smack someone just because they made you uncomfortable, or bring you daisies to cheer you up even though you hate daisies, or spend all night on the phone just so you can pretend to be watching a movie together. He’s just…” He hesitates. “He’s special.”_

_“Dude,” Mac says behind the camera. “You sound like you’re like, in love with the guy.”_

_Instead of flipping out at the accusation, on-camera Jensen flops over onto his back and sort of grins stupidly at the ceiling. “Your puny mind will never understand,” he says grandly._

_“Seriously, dude,” Mac says._

_Jensen sticks his tongue out at her. “Well, then I guess I am.”_


	4. Chapter 4

When over twenty minutes have passed since Jensen got back to their room and there’s still no sign of Jared, Jensen can’t take it anymore. He’s such an idiot. Jared’s probably back at the bar right now, showing everyone Jensen’s girly little speech about what a great guy he thinks Jared is. Laughing with the others about how Jensen spills his heart out to his little sister. Tomorrow is going to be hell.

But it’s not like life gives you do-overs, much as he might want them, so instead of pulling the covers over his head and pretending to have died he changes into his gym clothes and laces up his sneakers. Running always helps to take his mind off of stupid things, and if the others are out romping around in shady dive bars, then Jensen can go out to the track to run a few miles.

It’s refreshingly cool out on the field, and he sets a brisk pace. It feels good to be sprinting around the track, not his regular slow must-last-90-minutes speedy jog, but flat out running, his feet pounding the ground and his breath coming in short, breathy gasps. Too bad it also means he doesn’t make it very far, just twice around the ring, before his side starts to ache and he has to slow down. He’s sweaty and gross all over, and he’s hot again, so he sneaks into the locker rooms to rinse off before he can maybe do it again.

Nobody bothers to lock anything here at night – not even drifters make it this far out – and it’s easy to slip into the cool, dark room. The white porcelain of the sinks reflect the lights from outside and he leans over it, splashes water into his face and onto the back of his neck.

The sound of the door opening and swinging shut has him twisting around, but it takes him a moment before he recognizes the dark shape as Jared.

“Jesus,” he says, refusing to press a hand to his chest. “You totally freaked me out.” He reaches over and flips on the light in the room, but Jared barely even blinks.

“Sorry,” he says. He’s still standing there, intent expression on his face, head tilted to the side.

“Do I have something on my nose?” Jensen finally asks when he can’t take the silence anymore.

Jared blinks but doesn’t say anything. Then a slow, predatory smile quirks up the corner of his mouth and he begins to inch forward, and forward and forward, until he’s right in Jensen’s space and Jensen’s standing with his back practically touching the wall.

“You are such an idiot,” Jared whispers.

“Your mom’s an idiot,” Jensen retorts, but it’s half-hearted at best.

“I really don’t want to talk about my mom right now,” Jared says, right before he leans in and kisses Jensen.

Holy shit, he’s kissing Jensen.

He pulls away after only a moment, but Jensen still feels like he just ran a marathon.

“Why am I the idiot?” he demands, breathless. “You’re the one who kissed me in the first place.”

Jared brings his hand up to rest on Jensen’s cheek. “I think I’m entitled to five minutes of gay freak out.”

“Five minutes? Five days!” Jensen corrects.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jared rolls his eyes. “I missed you too.”

And just like that, every bitchy thought Jensen has had over the last couple of days goes right out the window. All he does is stand there, eyes fixed on Jared’s mouth while it gets closer and closer. He makes a soft noise when they finally touch his and there’s Jared’s tongue, in Jensen’s mouth, hot and awkward. He pulls away after only a moment.

“They’ll see…” he whispers. 

He starts when Jared flicks the light switch, plunging the room in darkness. Only a lone beamer out on the field filters in through the window, highlighting Jared’s hair and making his eyes shine.

“They’re all at the bar still,” Jared says, a grin splitting his face wide. “They won’t see shit.”

He kisses Jensen once again before Jensen can protest, more movement this time, tilting his head to the side, and his tooth catches on Jensen’s bottom lip.

Jensen can’t help but hiss at the pain, and they break apart with an awkward little chuckle. Jensen tries to suck some air into his lungs, twisting his face away from Jared’s hot breath, but Jared won’t have it. He turns Jensen’s face back to his and runs two knuckles along Jensen’s jaw.

“Here,” he whispers, “Relax a bit, okay. I don’t bite.”

Jensen runs his tongue over his bottom lip and huffs a quiet laugh. “Liar.”

Jared snickers. “Not on purpose.”

Before Jensen can think of anything else to say, Jared presses in again, fitting their lips together. It’s easier like this, and Jensen even begins to figure out how to react to the extra tongue in his mouth, teasing it with his own. It’s still a bit wet, overall, but he’s starting to kind of get into it when Jared suddenly pulls away and lets his head drop to rest on Jensen’s shoulder.

“I’m so tired,” he mumbles.

Jensen quietly, carefully slides his hand up to rest on Jared’s neck. There are little hairs there, underneath Jared’s mane, and he runs his fingertips over them slowly. It feels nice.

“You haven’t slept much, huh?” he says.

Jared shakes his head. “Too busy fretting,” he says.

Jensen slides his fingers lower, underneath the collar of Jared’s shirt, and is rewarded by a tiny shiver. “But you’re okay now?”

Jared nods. He looks up after a moment, brilliant smile blooming on his face. “Better than okay.” He pushes himself away, to Jensen’s regret, and tilts his head. “You look tired, too.”

“Too busy being confused,” Jensen admits, and Jared smiles ruefully.

He reaches down and takes Jensen’s hand in his. “What do you say we get out of here?”

Jensen considers. “That sounds good.”

Jared nods. “Let’s head to bed,” he says, tugging on Jensen’s hand.

Jensen, wuss that he is, freezes in his tracks. “I don’t,” he says. “I’m not-“

Jared blinks at him, confused, before his expression clears. “To sleep,” he clarifies. “I’ve had some really shitty nights, and I’m tired.”

“Okay,” Jensen says with a nervous chuckle.

Jared shakes his head. “Dude, you like, know me. You really think I’m just gonna strip off your gear and have my wicked way with you?”

Well, no. It sounds stupid when he puts it like that. Still, this is huge. He’s in completely foreign territory here. He feels like he’s allowed to freak out a little.

Jared disagrees, apparently. He pulls Jensen out of the room, along the hallways and up the stairs to their wing. The silence is thick between them, heavy and dark, but Jensen can’t come up with anything that would lighten the mood. If anything, he feels like no matter what he could bring up, it would all feel like even more of a big deal.

Jared pushes their door open slowly, pulls Jensen inside and gives him a light shove towards his – Jensen’s – bed. “Go on,” he says.

Jensen climbs into bed slowly. He strips off his shorts and puts on a mostly clean t-shirt from the pile on the floor, and then he sits up and watches Jared. Jared who’s leisurely taking off his jeans and various shirts until he’s standing bare-chested in the middle of the room. His boxers are white with little chili peppers on them. Jensen has seen them dozens of times before – hell, he’s even borrowed them a couple of times – but somehow it feels different now. More intimate, somehow. Jared doesn’t even notice him staring, just strips his shirt off with an easy confidence that Jensen wishes he could own as naturally as Jared does.

“Scoot over,” Jared says. He puts a leg up onto the mattress even while Jensen obeys, and a moment later he’s under the covers and pressing his lips to Jensen’s.

“What are you doing?” Jensen asks, whisper-quiet.

“Kissing you,” Jared says. He’s quiet for a moment. “I mean, I can stop, if you want me to?”

Jensen definitely does not want him to. He leans forward instead, pressing his lips to Jared’s, before he sinks back into his pillow.

“That’s good to know,” Jared says. Then he yawns. “Fuck me, I’m tired,” he says.

Jensen lifts his head to look at the alarm clock on his bedside table. “It’s only eleven,” he murmurs. “Shit, I thought it’d be later.”

Jared mumbles something into the pillow. “—uck.”

Jensen nudges him. “Do you think the others are back yet?”

Jared lifts his head and gives him a baleful glare. “I said, I don’t give a fuck. Put that away and let’s sleep.”

Jensen’s stomach gives an almost painful lurch and he giggles nervously. “Is that a euphemism?”

With a sigh, Jared tugs Jensen closer and throws one leg over his, trapping him against his body. “No,” he says.

Jensen wriggles uncomfortably, but Jared refuses to budge. “Do you even know what a euphemism is?’ Jensen asks.

Jared grunts into the pillow. “It’s like saying you’re a little annoying right now.”

Jensen wants to say more, but Jared forces his tongue between Jensen’s teeth. Jensen can either stop talking or risk biting him, so he does the first. After a few seconds of glaring at him, Jared de-gags him.

“Shut it,” he says firmly. “The last week was absolute shit, and this whole business almost ruined my birthday, and the last thing I want to talk about right now is euphemisms. So we can either go to sleep here, right now, or I can go find the others and let you babble by yourself.”

Jensen opens his mouth, but Jared shakes his head. “I’m serious,” he says.

There isn’t really anything left to say to that, so Jensen closes his eyes and tries to relax into Jared’s stranglehold.

Jensen has to pee. He tries to ignore it, but he’s been awake for almost an hour now, and he really has to go. He lifts his head to stare longingly at the bathroom door, but Jared’s body, wrapped around him like an octopus with his favorite toy, keeps him from actually getting anywhere.

Sighing, he untangles one arm and pokes Jared in the side. “Hey,” he whispers.

Jared twitches and mumbles something. That’s a start, but he doesn’t let go, so Jensen pokes him again.

“Jared,” he says, a bit less quietly this time. He scoots towards the edge of the bed, but Jared tugs him back and wraps his arms more securely around him. He snuggles closer, draping himself over Jensen’s back and squishing Jensen’s face into the mattress, and breathes hot air in Jensen’s ear.

Jensen scowls. There are a lot of things he’ll put up with from Jared, but getting between a man and his toilet bowl in the morning is just _wrong_. “Jared,” he says loudly. “Get the fuck off me.”

“Jesus, you’re a grouch in the morning,” Jared says, sleep-drunken and crabby.

“You just imagine how grouchy I’ll be when I piss all over myself,” Jensen retorts.

After that, getting out of bed becomes nothing more than an exercise in sorting out which limbs belong to whom. He pushes himself upright and snags yesterday’s jeans from the crumpled heap of clothes next to the bed. He shuffles his legs into them and snaps the buckle closed before he looks around for his phone and finds Jared watching him with hooded eyes. He looks wary, and kind of tired. Not like he regrets anything, though, which is the only reason Jensen doesn’t have a heart attack right there.

“You okay?” he asks instead.

Jared blinks. He smiles carefully. “Yeah,” he says. “You?”

“Yeah,” Jensen replies. He leans in quickly before he can change his mind and kisses Jared’s sleep-dry lips. Then he gets a full taste of morning breath and pulls away before he gags. “Ugh,” he mutters. “That’s nasty.”

“I could say the same thing,” Jared mutters. He pushes at Jensen’s shoulder. “Go brush your teeth.”

He sounds disgruntled, but when Jensen glances over his shoulder on the way to the bathroom, he’s watching Jensen walk away with a small, quiet smile on his face.

Half an hour later, Jensen is convinced he and Jared took a wrong turn somewhere on the way to the cafeteria and stumbled into the Twilight Zone. They are surrounded by zombies with slumped shoulders and blood-shot eyes. He can almost hear the cries for “CAFFEEEIIINE” that ought to be accompanying the sluggish movements. Mike certainly moans like he just came back from the dead, anyway.

Jensen watches him fumble with his water glass with a kind of horrified fascination. Is this what people turn into when they go to bars? Self-pitying, brainless, people-shaped creatures? Looks like Jensen made it out just in time.

Tom to his right is a bit more composed, at least. His hands alternately cover his eyes or his mouth, or his ears when Mike groans sorrowfully, but at least he recognizes Jared’s, “What on earth happened to you?” as a question.

“The girls talked some dude into buying them a bottle of tequila,” he says, very quietly.

Jared nods sagely. Apparently the evils of tequila are universal knowledge.

“Don’t talk about, about _that_ ,” Mike sputters, momentarily returned to the semi-aware. “Don’t even speak the name.” He glares balefully at Tom for a few seconds, then slowly lowers his head to the table again.

“It’s not like You-Know-Who, you know,” Jared says. His lips quirk upwards. “It’s not magically gonna pop out of thin air in front of you just because you said the word.”

Mike sobs.

“Jared,” Tom says, still in barely more than a whisper. “I’m sorry, but you’re a dork.”

“Hey,” Jared protests. “It’s my birthday. You can’t talk to me like that.”

“Exactly,” Tom says. “It’s your birthday. You should be feeling worse than all of us combined.”

“Yeah,” Mike croaks. “Where did you disappear to last night, anyway?”

Jared gives Jensen a quick look. Jensen drops his eyes, and for a moment, Jared is very quiet. “I was by the bleachers,” he finally says.

“Lame,” Mike says.

“Not necessarily,” Jared says easily. He winks when Mike stares at him.

“Mr. Padalecki,” he says slowly. “Are you withholding information from your bestest friend?”

“Nope.” Jared smiles pleasantly. “Jen knows everything that went down.”

Jensen’s face just sort of melts into a soppy smile at that, he can’t help it, and Jared knocks their elbows together and actually winks.

“Oh my God.” Tom rolls his eyes. “Can you two just get married already?”

Jensen blushes a condemning scarlet, but nobody seems to really notice. Or care.

“Only if you’ll be our maid of honor,” Jared tells him, and neatly dodges the roll Tom throws at him in retaliation. Instead, it flies past his shoulder and almost hits Adam, the last guy to stumble into the cafeteria with bloodshot eyes. He turns away from the buffet with a shudder and heads towards one of the tables instead, where PJ pours him a glass of water from a pitcher.

He hasn’t even properly melted into his chair when Morgan puts down his newspaper and stands up. “Boys, listen up,” he says. His voice promises doom, and what little conversation there was dies immediately.

“It just so happens that last night, there was a room check at the dorm halls.”

A couple of people exchange glances, but none of them look as terrified as Jensen feels. If Morgan saw them together… oh God.

“Stand up when I call your name,” Morgan continues, and before Jensen even has time to properly panic, he says, “Jensen Ackles.”

Jensen can feel every single set of eyes in the room on him. He swallows, swallows again, and rises to his feet. He has to hold on to the edge of the table for support. He sneaks a glance over at Morgan, but the man’s face is unreadable when he calls out, “Jared Padalecki.”

Jared swallows as well when he rises to stand next to Jensen and squares his shoulders.

Okay, Jensen tells himself. It’ll be okay. The worst thing that can happen is that they get kicked of the team, and he can deal with that. Well, he can’t, but it’s not like they’re going to get lynched right here, is it? He wants to crawl under the table and hide, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Morgan’s face.

“You,” the man announces grimly, “were in your room when I checked last night. Good job. You have the day off.”

Jensen’s rush of relief is so abrupt that his knees almost buckle. Jared, still ashen-faced and hunched in on himself, doesn’t look like he’s faring much better, and they fall into their seats more than sit down. Mike and Tom are openly staring at them, but at least from down here you can’t really tell that everyone else is, too.

Morgan shakes his head. “That means that everyone else decided to spend last night gallivanting through the countryside, so all of you clowns, double-time it out to the field for a technical clinic.”

His announcement is answered by a serious of groans, but a patented Morgan Glare™ shuts those up immediately.

Chairs scrape and shoes shuffle as everyone reluctantly heads out to the exit. Jensen would be perfectly content to just sit here and recover from his almost heart attack, but Jared tugs on his arm.

“Come on,” he hisses. “Let’s book it.”

They catch up with the last stragglers, ignoring their glares. Instead of heading out to the field, Jared tugs him towards the doors to the parking lot, and then they’re out in the sunlight, alive and free.

“Dude,” is all Jared says.

Jensen nods. “I thought we were dead for sure.”

Jared glances back over his shoulder before he slings an arm around Jensen’s waist.

After a look around of his own, Jensen curls into Jared’s shoulder. “I thought we were dead,” he whispers.

“I know how that feels,” Jared mutters. His disbelieving expression cracks to reveal a sunny smile. “Fuck me,” he says. “It’s like Morgan didn’t even notice.”

“He’ll probably say something eventually.”

“Whatever,” Jared says. He snatches Jensen’s wrist and tugs him down between a few tidily trimmed bushes. He doesn’t even let Jensen complain about the dirt crumbling into his sneakers or the leaves tickling at the back of his neck. Instead, he slides his fingers under Jensen’s t-shirt and his tongue into Jensen’s mouth, and Jensen completely forgets he was going to say.

Around lunch time, they migrate to the middle of the baseball field, half a mile’s walk from the school buildings and away from prying eyes. Jared sprawls out in the middle of the damp grass and calls his family. After a few uncomfortable moments, Jensen settles down next to him and drapes his arm over Jared’s middle.

It’s comfortable like this. The slightly wet ground below keeps the heat from getting too uncomfortable. They don’t have to be anywhere, do anything. All they have to do is lie there, just the two of them, with Jared’s mom and dad and brother and sister on speakerphone all battling each other for the right to say “Happy Birthday” first.

“So how are you going to spend your birthday, honey?” Jared’s mom asks after the ruckus has died down. “That awful coach isn’t going to make you train all day, is he?”

There’s a moment of yelling when Jeff defends Morgan – he’s a soccer team graduate, class of 2008 – and Jared’s dad rumbles something in the background, and then his sister saying, “ _I_ think he’s kind of cute,” followed by a round of incredulous “Meg!”s.

“No,” Jared says when he can finally get a word in. He smiles sweetly and squeezes Jensen’s hand. “He gave me the day off.”

“Must be getting soft in his old age,” Jeff says with a snort.

“Jeff,” Jared’s mother chides.

“So what are you going to do?” Meg chimes in. “Spend it all by yourself, you lonely loser?”

Jared rolls his eyes. “I’m with Jensen,” he says.

Jensen can’t keep the goofy smile spreading over his face, and it just gets worse when Jared reaches over and squeezes his hand.“That’s so sweet, Jayby,” Jared’s mom coos – in all seriousness, as far as Jensen can tell.

“Mom!” Jared protests. “That’s embarrassing.”

“You’ll never be too old for nicknames, carrot cake,” his mom insists.

Jensen can’t help but laugh out loud at the expression on Jared’s face.

“I’m hanging up now,” Jared threatens.

“Okay, baby,” his mother says. “Have fun with Jensen now.”

“Oh, I will,” Jared says, and, well. It’s not like anyone can see Jensen blush.

It’s Jared’s turn to go red when his family bursts into an off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday to You,” and he hangs up for real while his brother is still drawing out the last note. “God,” he says and covers his face with his hand. He turns his head and looks at Jensen.

“Happy birthday,” Jensen whispers.

“Jensen,” Jared says. His breath hitches. “I’m so fucking lucky,” he says, more to himself than anyone.

Jensen has no idea what that has to do with him, but Jared’s lips are close, so close that their breaths mingle, and they are soft and candy-sweet when they touch his.

There’s a package waiting when they get back to the room. It’s for Jared, of course, from home: A new jersey and new cleats, a book (Jensen can’t help but laugh at Jared’s horrified expression) and a lifetime’s supply of jelly bellies, gummy worms, and Extremes.

Jared tears a package open right away. “Look at that,” he says gleefully. “They know me so well.”

“You’re gonna get fat,” Jensen says, dropping backwards onto his bed.

Jared pokes at his belly which, as Jensen knows from experience, feels like someone layered skin over solid rock. “Oh no,” he gripes. “All this candy is going to ruin my girlish figure.”

“Y’got that right,” Jensen says. He laughs when Jared throws a jelly belly at him, even though it gets him right by his ear. “Next practice, we’re gonna have to use _you_ as the ball.”

Jared, candy clutched protectively to his chest, clambers onto Jensen’s bed and crawls up it until he’s leaning over Jensen, grinning wide. “Or we could just have our own private little work-out right here.”

“Could you be any more corny?” Jensen asks in reply, because he’s an idiot, but Jared (God bless him) just kisses him.

“You taste like sugar,” Jensen says.

Jared kisses him again. “You like it,” he tells him, grinning.

Jensen shrugs. “I’m just gonna have to get used to it, aren’t I?” he asks.

“You’d better,” Jared says. His grin melts into something smaller, sweeter. “’Cause I plan on kissing you for a long time.”

And, well. There’s really only one thing to say to that: “Don’t look now, but I think your dick just fell off.”

“Asshole.” Jared pushes at his shoulder, but he’s laughing. “See if I ever try to make out with you again.”

He gets as far as sitting up and swinging one leg off the side before Jensen finally snaps out of it and pulls him back down. “Oh hell no,” he says. He slings a leg over Jared’s waist. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Jared grins. “I knew you’d come around,” he says. “Nobody can say no to the awesome power of Padalecki make-outs.”

Jensen raises an eyebrow, but he can barely keep a straight face when he says, “I kinda just wanted the candy.”

Jared rolls his eyes, bites his lip and leans in, and Jensen’s eyes have already closed reflexively when he gets an entire load of jelly bellies in his face. He wrestles the empty bag from Jared, candy flying everywhere, and tosses it over Jared’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you did that, you ass,” he says.

And kisses him. Because it’s Jared, and how is he possibly supposed to say no to that?

Jared picks a piece of candy from Jensen’s hair and smiles. “Awesomest birthday ever,” he confesses.

And how can Jensen respond to that except by kissing him again?

It’s dark out when Jensen wakes up. Jared’s awake, eyes reflecting the faint green glow of Jensen’s alarm clock. It’s a little creepy, if Jensen’s honest, but he ignores it, banking on the hope that Jared isn’t going to turn into some kind of possessive stalker in the future.

“Time?” he mutters.

“Like eleven,” comes the quiet reply.

“Huh,” Jensen says. Great. Time enough to pass out for another eight or nine hours.

But no, Jared has other ideas. “Have you ever liked a girl?” he whispers to him, tilting his head into the pillow.

Mouth dry, Jensen shakes his head.

Jared sucks his lower lip into his mouth. “I liked Sandy,” he says.

Jensen nods. Jared likes girls, of course. He always has. Maybe this is when he’ll realize that going out with Sandy will be a lot more pleasant than going out with Jensen, who’s not nearly as cute and funny and has a truckload of baggage, not to mention easier because people won’t ever look at Jared funny when he goes out with the adorable sexy _female_ Sandy.

Jared leans over to press his nose into the skin behind the shell of Jensen’s ear. “I never liked her as much as I like you, though.”

“Isn’t there some sort of cardinal rule about not talking about your ex in front of the new hook-up?” Jensen asks.

“Sandy isn’t my ex,” Jared points out. He’s slurring a bit, mostly asleep. “And you’re not just a hook-up. So nobody’s got any problems, aight?”

“Shit,” Jensen says suddenly. He bolts upright. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”

Jared blinks up at him. “Wha?” he mumbles.

“We’re retarded,” Jensen says. “God, we’re the biggest idiots alive.”

“Hey,” Jared says, sounding vaguely offended.

“No, I’m serious,” Jensen says. He turns and gives Jared a look. “Morgan came in when we were sleeping.”

“So?” Jared asks. He sniffs, head tilting towards the pillow.

“So he witnessed your little octopussy act. There are policies against that kind of shit, you know?”

Jared blinks. It apparently takes him forever to process what Jensen just told him. “Well, shit,” he says slowly.

Well, shit? That was the best he could come up with? “We have to talk to Morgan!” Jensen decrees.

Jared’s eyes widen in panic. “Are you nuts?” he demands shrilly. “We should be trying to stay as far away from Morgan as possible.”

“We _have_ to talk to him,” Jensen says. “He could be calling our parents as we speak.”

 _That_ gets through to Jared, if the blossoming panic on his face is anything to go by, and he sits up. “Fine,” he says. “Let’s go.”

They get dressed in silence, sweatpants and shirts, and Jensen peeks out the door while Jared looks for his flip flops. Jensen’s heart pounds uncomfortably even though it’s not like they really can get caught sneaking around after curfew, considering they’re going to actually talk to their coach.

Still, he’s anxious and twitchy on the way over, and not even the way Jared clings to his hand seems to help with that.

Morgan’s door is ajar, light filtering into the dark hallway. Jensen shares a short, panicked look with Jared and pushes it open far enough to stick his head in.

“Coach?” he asks quietly. His heart thumps against the roof of his mouth.

Morgan looks up. There is surprise in his expression, but not a whole lot of it. “Yes, Jensen?” he asks, putting down his pen.

“Um.” Jensen edges into the room, dragging Jared with him, and comes to an uneasy stop in front of the desk.

Morgan looks even less surprised now. “Something I can help you with, boys?”

“We were wondering…” Jensen starts

“Yes?” Morgan prompts, when Jensen can’t make himself finish his sentence.

“I mean,” Jensen tries again.

“You did rounds last night,” Jared blurts. He flushes. “I mean, you saw… You must have seen…”

“Your sleeping arrangements?” Morgan finishes when it becomes clear that the words won’t come over Jared’s lips either. “Yes. And?”

Jensen bites his lip before he can blurt out something stupid, like ‘We fell asleep giving each other massages.’ He scuffs Jared’s sneaker with his toe. “And you don’t…?” he murmurs. “Uh, and that’s okay?”

“Well, I would prefer if you spent the night in your respective beds. Athletes need all the sleep they can get, you know that.”

His grin fades when neither Jared not Jensen crack a smile. “Look, boys, I don’t know what you want me to say. I have no idea how serious this is, and that’s between the pair of you only. Shout it from the rooftops if you want, but on two conditions.”

He rises from his chair. Jared shrinks against Jensen’s side. Jensen understands the feeling.

“First off, none of this comes into training. I want no sweet whispered nothings, no kissing, no wistful stares on my playing field. _None._ If I think either of you are slacking off, then you’re riding the bench, captain or no captain.”

He fixes Jensen with a hard stare. Jensen swallows but nods.

“Okay, and the other thing?” Coach throws his hands up in exasperation. “For God’s sake, be safe. Neither of you can get pregnant, so I see no reason to separate you right now, but I know you’ve both taken Sex Ed, and if either of you get knocked out by nasty diseases, I will kick both your asses.”

The flush on Jared’s cheeks looks as bad as Jensen suspects his own to be.

“Yes, sir,” he croaks.

Morgan grins toothily. “Good. Is that all? Then get out of my office and back into bed.”

Jared beats a hasty retreat, Jensen following at his heels.

“Jensen?” Jared asks as they make their way down the dark corridor. His voice sounds kind of strangled.

“Yeah?” Jensen says breathlessly.

“Out of all the stupid ideas you’ve had in, I don’t know, _ever_ , this may well have been your worst one yet.”

Jensen isn’t really sure what he was expecting. Maybe that everyone could see ‘gay for Jared’ written on his forehead. Although it might as well be, considering that he spends most of his time grinning like a complete idiot, even when Jared nudges him under the table to get him to stop. _Especially_ when Jared nudges him under the table, actually.

And it’s just… It’s too perfect. Jared uses every possible opportunity to corner Jensen and kiss the life out of him – but not even anywhere _near_ the field, they’re both too terrified for that. He’s less likely to fly into a screaming rage, too. In fact, he’s gotten several dubious looks when someone fucked up a drill and he didn’t even seem to notice.

It’s all a little too wonderful. It’s like that montage in movies, with the poppy feel-good song in the background, where everything is great right before it all goes to hell. Jensen can’t help waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But, well, whatever he was expecting, it doesn’t actually happen. Morgan is satisfied with their behavior, the terrible trio of Strait, Chase and Hayden scowl and glower but don’t actually do anything, and nobody else even seems to notice that something is different now.

Life goes on.

They watch the Dolphins get in from Mike and Tom’s window, one of the few that faces out into the parking lot. The guys slowly collect their bags from the luggage compartment of their bus, weary faces bearing the evidence of a five-hour traffic jam. The only reason nobody’s called lights out yet is because Justin is too busy schmoozing the kitchen staff into making a second dinner at ten thirty at night, and Morgan is over with the Juniper High coach, discussing if they should try to move the game back so everybody can sleep in.

“Is anybody sort of annoyed that they get an actual bus, and we have to ride in our shitty little vans?” Mike asks. He pops open a can of Pepsi, cursing when he spills some onto himself. That’s Karma, Jensen supposes. They’re not supposed to drink soda if they can help it, supposed to avoid ‘sugary shit’ – to quote Justin – altogether, so Mike probably brought his sticky hands down on himself.

“They probably wouldn’t be able to fit in our vans,” Tom comments. “Seriously, where do they get these guys? The one with the Sox caps is built like a friggin’ barn.”

“They are kinda beefy,” Jared agrees.

Jensen kind of thinks that neither of them have room to talk, really. Tom definitely bulked up in the last couple of months, and even Jared is starting to lose some of that beanpole vibe. But it’s true that the guys from Juniper High looks more like a wrestling team than a soccer one.

“I’m suddenly very glad this isn’t a contact sport,” Mike says. He takes a gulp of soda and belches.

“Word,” Tom mutters. He definitely needs to stop spending so much time around Mike, because that was totally Mike’s line. Then he yawns, wide enough that his jaw cracks. Jensen’s pretty sure he just saw his tonsils.

“Word,” Jared echoes. “I think I’m gonna head to bed. Jen?”

“Yeah,” Jensen says. “See you tomorrow, guys?”

“Can’t wait,” Mike says, sardonically. “Wouldn’t want to miss getting clobbered by this herd of gorillas.”

They don’t look any smaller in the day. They spend most of breakfast staring at each other, sizing each other up, and the longer Jensen watches them blow through several pounds of bacon and omelets each, the more anxious he feels. Their midfielder, something something Brown, looks like he’s put on at least another twenty pounds. He narrows his eyes in Jensen’s direction and Jensen looks down at his plate with a squeak he will deny until his dying day.

Jared squeezes his leg under the table. “You think maybe they sent their football team out by mistake?” he mutters quietly.

Jensen glances over at their striker, a hook-nosed guy whose neck is about the same diameter as Jensen’s leg, and can’t help thinking he has a point.

But since being terrified of your opponents is no excuse for actually playing them, it seems like all Jensen does is blink and he’s already on the field, waiting for the ref to do the coin toss.

The match is a hard one. Everybody’s a bit intimidated by the sheer size of their opponents. Jared and Steve try their best, but there’s only so much the two of them can do.

Jensen almost starts cheering when Steve starts sprinting for the goal, but there’s the other team’s striker. He sneaks the ball from Steve’s feet; Steve goes flying, crumpling onto the ground behind the guy, and 63 takes off with the ball. Jensen sprints forward, seeing Strait do the same out of the corner of his eyes. They can’t let this guy through. They just can’t.

“Steve, get _up_ ,” somebody yells.

Except Steve doesn’t get up. He stays lying in the grass in a crumpled heap, both hands wrapped around his ankle, his face twisted in agony. In a completely rookie move, Chris abandons his position and sprints over. After a few tense seconds, the whistle blows and the ref jogs down the field, following him.

“Stay in position, guys,” Jensen warns and heads towards the rapidly growing cluster of people, coaches and refs and parents and a paramedic and a bright yellow shirt. 

Morgan and Justin meet him halfway there. Pushing his way towards the center of the group, he narrowly avoids kicking Steve who rolls towards him, both hands wrapped around his ankle, face screwed up in misery.

“Lie still, please,” the paramedic says with an exasperated tinge to his voice. He pushes Steve’s shoulder flat into the ground and lays his hand over Steve’s. He’s cute, college-age with a bit of a faux-hawk and startling blue eyes, Jensen notices, and immediately feels bad for even thinking that when his friend is in agony.

“What’s his name?” the paramedic asks.

Jensen looks up to find the guy looking straight at him and swallows. “Steve,” he says quickly, before he can blurt out his own name. “His name’s Steve.”

“Okay, Steve?” Paramedic crouches over Steve again. “I’m Elijah. I need you to let go of your ankle so I can take a look at it. Okay? Can you do that for me?”

Jensen isn’t sure Steve even heard him over his groan of pain, but he lets his hands flop onto the grass.

“That’s great,” Elijah says. “You’re doing just fine. I’m going to touch your ankle now, and I want you to tell me if it hurts.”

Steve nods, eyes still firmly shut, and swallows down a whimper of pain when Elijah’s fingers brush against his skin. Then two other paramedics arrive with a stretcher and Morgan’s hand settles on Jensen’s shoulder, pulling him around.

“Go reassure the others,” he says. “They need to have their heads back in the game by the time Steve is off the field.”

“He needs to see a doctor,” Elijah says. He pulls himself up to his not-at-all-impressive height and gives Morgan a long look that is surprisingly intimidating for such a small guy. “I’ve patched him up as best I can, but he needs to see a doctor. He cannot put weight on that leg until he does. You got me?”

“Jensen,” Morgan says.

Jensen nods and pushes his way past what looks like a couple of random parents, forcing down his annoyance that this is his _friend_ they’re ogling. Steve is going to live, and they still have a game to win.

Still, the game is slow to get going again, and nothing happens until halftime. Chris spends all fifteen minutes pacing around the locker room while Morgan tries to talk strategy. Justin’s gone to take Steve to a doctor a few towns over, and Dan, who’s replacing him, is white as a sheet. It’s not any kind of winner’s atmosphere.

And it keeps feeling like they’re really the losing team. Jared slips the ball past the goalie in the 58th minute, easy as you please, securing their lead at 2-0, but the usual triumph is severely subdued. Even when, after another listless half hour, the ref calls the game in their favor, nobody bothers to cheer. Steve’s pain-white face is still on everybody’s mind.

Jensen sticks around to shake the other captain’s hand after the game. He’s a beefy guy, of course, with a thin yellow mustache right under his nose. His eyes say that he’s sorry, but his mouth doesn’t, and Jensen kind of wishes he had the nerve to kick the guy in the shin with his cleat.

When he’s showered and dressed, Justin’s white van is back, and Jensen almost trips over his own feet in his haste to get over to Steve and Chris’ room. He opens the door as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake Steve if he’s knocked out.

The first thing he sees is Chris, tense and agitated. He looks like _he_ just spent five hours at the hospital instead of Steve. Steve is pretty much the picture of health in comparison, cast on his foot and a bit pale perhaps, but otherwise fine.

Chris paces the length of the room, sighs dramatically, and turns to pace in the other direction. His fingers twitch like he wishes he were holding a cigarette. Then he catches sight of Jensen and nods at him. “Hey Jen,” he says.

It takes Steve a moment to focus on the doorway, but when he does, his lips curve into a small smile.

“Hey, man,” Jensen says quietly.

“Hey,” Steve says. He sounds mellow, not at all like he’s in pain, but then Steve always sounds mellow. “Gonna come in?”

Jensen edges into the room and perches gingerly on the foot of the bed. He keeps his movements slow. He doesn’t want to cause Steve any discomfort.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Does he look okay?” Chris snaps.

Jensen flinches and turns bright red, but Steve only glares at Chris.

“Shut up, man,” he says. “It’s not Jensen’s fault you’re being a little girl about this.”

Chris flushes himself, but it’s more anger than embarrassment. “Fine,” he says. “If you don’t want my help, you can just fucking take care of yourself.” And then he jumps off the bed and slams the door shut behind him.

Jensen turns to Steve to see if he has an explanation for why Chris is acting so… not like Chris.

Steve shrugs. “He’s upset, is all,” he says. “He’ll come around.”

“I mean, I get it,” Jensen says. “It wasn’t exactly the greatest thing to watch ever.”

“Wasn’t the greatest thing to have happen to you, either,” Steve throws in.

Jensen bites his lip. “I’m sorry, man,” he says. “I should have-“

He stops talking when Steve shakes his head sharply. “You shouldn’t have done shit, man,” he says.

Jensen looks down at the comforter, and Steve sighs.

“Jensen, sometimes shit happens, okay? That doesn’t mean you have to go commit seppuku.” He pokes Jensen’s side. “Means you pick up and go on, okay?”

“Okay,” Jensen says reluctantly. He carefully touches the thick bandage. “You’re not playing Saturday, are you?”

“Not for the rest of the summer,” Steve says. He doesn’t sound all that upset about it – not as much as Jensen would be – but not happy, either. Maybe it’s the pain killers.

Jensen’s next apology is already at the tip of his tongue, but he gets cut off by a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Steve calls, and Jared pokes his head in.

“Hey,” he says to Jensen. “Here you are.” He nods at Steve. “How’s the leg, man?”

“Fucked up,” Steve says easily. “I’m out for the rest of the championships, at least.”

“That sucks, man,” Jared says.

“Yeah.” Steve shrugs. “It’s looking to be a long summer.” He looks around. “Not the most fascinating place ever, you know?”

“You’re not going home?” Jensen asks.

Steve shakes his head. “Folks are in Europe, remember?” he says. “Nobody home to take care of me.”

Jensen bites his lip before he can blurt out that his parents – his mom, at least – would drop everything to come get him if he so much as sprained his ankle, and that’s sort of the way he thinks it should be. But Steve’s parents have always been a bit strange like that.

Of course, Jared has no inhibitions like that. “They’re not coming back?” he asks.

Steve shrugs. “They offered, but why would I make them ditch their vacation? If I’m just gonna be in bed all day, I might as well do it here.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Jared says.

Steve nods before breaking out into a huge, jaw-cracking yawn, and Jensen almost jumps to his feet.

“We should go,” he says.

His words are affirmed when Steve doesn’t protest, just nods, yawning again. “Come by tomorrow,” he says. “I have a feeling I’ll be bored out of my mind.”

“No worries, man,” Jared assures him. He snags the back of Jensen’s t-shirt when he dithers and pulls him out the door. “Sleep tight,” he calls back.

“Good night,” Jensen adds, managing to pull the door shut before Jared drags him away.

“Shit,” he says, when they’re already halfway back to their room.

Jared doesn’t say anything, just rests his hand low on Jensen’s back, low enough to slip his thumb underneath Jensen’s t-shirt. Jensen just kind of goes warm all over. He still can’t believe that this is his – all his.

The days are quieter without Steve around. Maybe it’s because without Steve, Chris is more subdued, doesn’t talk as much. He doesn’t show up to a whole lot of group things, either. Steve is a pretty quiet guy himself, but without him, it feels like the general decibel level of anything just sort of plummeted.

Morgan keeps them working hard, of course, and one morning Jensen is on his way back to his room to grab his cleats when Justin rushes by, arms full of clipboards, files, coffee and yellow pennies. His face lights up when he sees Jensen. “Can you get the orange cones out of the equipment room?” he asks.

“Sure,” Jensen says easily. He grabs his cleats and gets the cones out of the organized mess of sporting goods, old saddles, hurdles, hula hoops (for whatever reason), and worn-down gym mats. Still, his little detour cost him time, and he’s going to have to move it if he still wants to be on the field on time.

He bounds down the stairs with his cleats slung over his shoulder and the cones in his hand and gets into the main hall right behind Dan. PJ and Adam are hovering over by a vase with elaborate fake flowers, doing God knows what. Morgan’s going to kick their asses if they don’t get a move in.

“Hey Dan,” Jensen calls. “Can you take these for a second? My shoe’s untied.”

Dan does with a hesitant smile.

“Go on,” Jensen tells him as he kneels down. “I don’t want you to be late.”

Dan nods and starts walking, peering around the cones to see where he’s going.

“Watch out, nerd alert,” PJ mutters to Adam right before he sticks out his foot, tripping Dan and sending the cones flying. The two crack up, even more so when Dan scowls at them, and shove at each other in glee.

Jensen sighs and goes to help Dan up. “Knock it off, guys,” he says quietly. “S’not cool.”

Instead of telling him to fuck off, as Jensen half expects, Adam pouts at him. Pouts. “Why do you care ‘bout the little bird, Jen?” he wants to know. “He’s just a dumb freshman.”

“He’s a sophomore,” Jensen corrects him before Dan can. “And you should care too, ‘cause if these cones are late getting to the field, Coach is going to rain fire and brimstone down on all of us.”

PJ scowls, but Jensen can see the tiny spark of panic in his eyes. “Let’s go, man,” he says to Adam, slapping him on the chest with the back of his hand. “It’s no fun anymore with Mommy watching.”

Jensen sticks his tongue out at the two, trying to hide how much that stings, and PJ winks at him before the two amble around the corner.

Jensen clears his throat and turns back to Dan, about to ask him if he’s alright. He startles when Dan glares at him.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says.

Jensen shakes his head. So much for a ‘thank you.’ “Don’t give me that crap about having to stand up for yourself. That only works if you actually do it.”

Dan opens his mouth to protest.

Jensen raises his eyebrows at him.

Dan pauses, reconsiders. All he finally says, is, “Now Coach is gonna make both of us run laps.”

Jensen laughs softly. “I think I’ll survive.” He hands half the cones to Dan. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s not make it any worse than it already is.”

They _are_ late, of course, making it to the field just in time to see the coach break up their huddle. Dan sighs loudly. Jensen rolls his eyes and puts down the cones, catching a wink and a face from Jared that makes him smile.

“You all know what to do,” Coach says. “Khleo, Mike, you’re up first.” He turns and points a finger at Jensen and Dan. “You two can start running.”

Dan casts a long-suffering look at Jensen before he jogs away. Jensen steels himself and trudges over to Morgan and Justin. They both look surprised to see him still on the green.

“You were late, too,” are the first words out of Morgan’s mouth.

“I’ll go in a minute,” Jensen promises, “Just, go easy on Dan today? There was a bit of trouble after breakfast.”

“I’m not his babysitter,” Morgan says.

Jensen smiles ruefully. “Coulda fooled me,” he murmurs. Before Morgan has a chance to react, he adds, “Look, I’m not asking for special treatment. Rules are rules. But you’re always telling me to watch out for my team, so this is me. Watching out.”

“You’re a strange one, Jensen,” Coach says, sounding almost awed.

Jensen blushes, confused, and heads for the track before the coach can say anything else.

“I have got to be the fittest player in the league at this point,” Jensen sighs later. He wants nothing more than to flop back onto his bed and _die_ , but that will only lead to sore muscles and cramps the next day, so instead he gently stretches his calves. He angles one leg and bends down over the other, pressing his forehead against his knee. “I feel like all I do is run laps.”

Jared, wet hair curling at the nape of his neck, shakes his head. He scrubs a towel over his head and yawns. “You think you have it bad,” he says, shaking his head.

“You wouldn’t have to do so many laps if you stopped pissing Coach off so often,” Jensen points out.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jared bends over to rummage around in his trunk for socks.

Jensen takes the opportunity to ogle without inhibition. Jared in a white t-shirt and white boxers is just too good to pass up, especially with his damp, tan skin shining through the fabric.

Jared comes up with a pair of tennis socks and brandishes them at Jensen. “I know I have a temper,” he says. “No need to rub it in.”

“Temper.” Jensen scoffs. “I think the term you’re going for is ‘homicidal maniac’.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” Jared mutters. He plops down on his bed and pulls a sock over one ginormous foot. “Switch sides, or you’ll overstretch.”

Jensen blinks but obediently leans towards the other leg. “I’m serious, though,” he says. “No scout’s gonna be impressed if you beat up the ref during a game.”

“I’m not going to beat up any refs, Jensen,” Jared says, stopping with his second sock halfway on. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m just looking out for you,” Jensen says. “You know, team captain or whatever.”

“I’m not gonna lose my temper during a game,” Jared says. He frowns at Jensen. “Come on, man. Give me some credit.”

“You have before,” Jensen points out. “You were yelling at Dan out on the field, what, two weeks ago?”

“That was different,” Jared says.

“How?” Jensen asks, legitimately wanting to know how Jared worked that one out in his head, but Jared doesn’t answer. He shoves his foot into his sock and takes to steps to loom over Jensen. Before Jensen can do anything more than frown in confusion, Jared pushes him flat onto his back. “If you won’t stop talking, then I’ll just have to make you.”

Jensen’s disbelieving chuckle at the sheer corniness of the line gets swallowed when Jared fits their lips together. Only when Jensen is flushed and breathless does he leave off long enough to climb up and straddle him.

Jensen barely has time to suck in a breath before Jared leans in and kisses him again. And keeps him on kissing him until Jensen is flustered and distracted and out of his mind with wanting Jared so much. He can feel Jared’s hard-on through his shorts and he wants to touch it, wrap his fingers around him and get him off, but he can’t make himself.

“Jared,” he says. He pushes lightly at Jared’s chest. “I’m not, I don’t-“

Jared pulls away with a broken little moan. He’s flushed, breathing hard, and his eyes are wide open. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” he mutters. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t,” Jensen says. “Don’t be sorry.”

Jared laughs a bit, slides off of Jensen and flops down on his bed next to him. “Shit,” he says. Before Jensen can ask him what’s wrong, he adds, “That was awesome,” and gives Jensen the biggest grin Jensen has ever seen on anyone.

They’re quiet for a while, sleepy but content, until Jared shifts. “Who are we playing next?” he asks.

“The Allen River High Sand Devils,” Jensen supplies absently. “They beat Gordon High three-nil and Chiapas two-one. Strong midfield, but we have a chance if we can get through to their goalie.”

He glances over at Jared who stares back at him with his mouth hanging open. “Jensen,” he says slowly. “I asked for the name, not extended biographies on the players.”

“Sorry,” Jensen says. He looks over at Jared sheepishly. “I’m just-“

“Nervous?” Jared offers. He cracks a smile. “I can tell.”

Jensen tries not to pout at that. It’s not his fault he’s so damn easy to read. “I just…” He runs his hands through his hair. “There’s just so much at stake now, you know? And Dan’s gonna be taking Steve’s position and he’s gonna be a jittery mess ‘cause these are the semi-finals and he can barely even handle a qualifier, and he’s not half as good at fake-outs as Steve.”

“Hey,” Jared says. “Hey. Dan’s gonna do fine, okay? He’ll try his damndest and he’ll do great. And so will you.”

The Thursday before their game against Allen River High, Jensen wakes up forty-five minutes before his alarm is supposed to go off, wide awake and just a little bit terrified. Jared takes longer to blink into consciousness. He must have woken up because of how tense Jensen suddenly is, because usually Jared sleeps right to when his alarm goes off and then some.

“What’sup?” he murmurs.

“Match,” Jensen says, is all he has to say.

Jared pulls him back down, nuzzles into Jensen’s neck. “You’ll do fine,” he says. “Trust me, okay? You’ll do fine.”

“How do you know that?” Jensen asks.

“Because you’re you.” Jared smiles at him. “And you’re a giant overachiever and always do fine in everything.”

“I almost failed Bio last year,” Jensen reminds him. He’s usually a pretty good student, getting A’s and B’s in every subject. Sophomore year Bio is the only C on his transcript and it still makes him flush with embarrassment, especially now that Josh has decided to add a Bio minor.

Jared rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because you were like, majorly crushing on Mr. Pileggi.”

“I was not!” Jensen protests, bright red. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and pushes himself up, fishing for his gear under all of Jared’s shit.

“You liar,” Jared tells him, sitting up slowly. “I was in that class, remember. You spent the entire semester in the front row making googley eyes at him.”

“I do not make googley eyes at anyone,” Jensen says loudly, like there’s actually anyone around who would believe him. Truth is, the first day when Mr. Pileggi stood at the front of the class in his stupid tight-ass jeans and stupid cowboy boots, Jensen had finally understood the phrase, ‘hot for teacher.’ Not that Jensen had been, or anything. No, thank you. But he had definitely understood why some of the girls always wore their shortest skirts and tightest t-shirts on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Jared pulls on the first pair of pants he can reach and gets up too, stalking towards Jensen with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Yeah, yeah. So you camped in the front row and always hung around after fifth period and did every possible extra credit assignment ever, and you still got like, seventy percent?”

“It was hard,” Jensen lies. In all honesty, he doesn’t even remember what they covered that year. Marine mammals and the environment or some shit.

Jared laughs at him, openly and unapologetically, and wraps an arm around his waist. “Of course it was,” he says, and dips in to kiss him.

“Hey, Jared, are you-“

There’s no time to spring apart and reach for the nearest book, no time to pretend they weren’t doing what they were doing. Jared’s hands are in his hair and Jensen’s fingers tucked into the back of Jared’s jeans. Both their lips are swollen. Jensen’s stomach flips painfully, but he doesn’t even try to step away when he turns to look at Hayden standing in the doorway. Standing in the doorway with a surprised expression that is quickly turning ugly.

“What the fuck, man?” he says. “What’s going on here?”

Jared’s finger clench in Jensen’s hair, but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t try to explain it all away.

“Are you… are you guys _kissing_?” Hayden forces out.

Finally, slowly, Jared steps away. Jensen’s hands linger on his hips for a moment before they drop to his sides.

“What do you want?” Jared asks.

“You guys were making out,” Hayden says.

Jared rolls his eyes, but Jensen can see his hands clench painfully tight. “What do you want, Hayden?” he repeats.

“What, you’re a homo now?” Hayden asks with wide eyes.

“Get the fuck out,” Jared says sharply. His arms tighten around Jensen who can’t decide if his flinch is because of Hayden’s words or Jared’s tone. Either way, Jared’s hands drag along his back in a reassuring stroke.

Hayden catches the gesture, lip curling in disgust. “Oh, I’m leaving,” he says, and then he’s breezing out the door, door slamming shut behind him.

Jensen steps out of Jared’s hold. He can feel Jared try to hold on, but he needs to get away or he’s going to have a heart attack.

“Shit,” he says. “What are we going to do? What the fuck are we going to do?”

“We’re not gonna do shit,” Jared says. Before Jensen knows it, Jared has his arms around him again.

Jensen pushes at his shoulder, but Jared holds tight. “We gotta do _something_ ,” he says.

“There’s nothing we _can_ do,” Jared tells him. He presses his lips to Jensen’s in a harsh, attention-grabbing kiss. “Okay? Stop panicking. It’s out of our hands.”

Jensen takes a deep, heaving breath, and Jared gives him an encouraging smile, rubs his arms. “That’s it, just calm down,” he whispers. “We’re fine,” he tells Jensen. 

“We’re here, and we’re fine.”

Jensen takes a deep breath. If Jared can stay this calm even though they’re about to get their asses kicked by half their team, then so can he. “Okay,” he says slowly. 

He breathes out. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Jared says. He smiles.

Jensen returns it, but he knows how shaky it is. “You know Hayden’s going to tell everyone,” he says, and it’s not a question.

“Yeah,” Jared says, fake-casual. He kisses Jensen again, soothing this time. “But we’ll deal with that when it happens, okay? And not a minute before.”


	5. Chapter 5

By the time they make it to the dining hall, Hayden is already whispering with Strait and Chace. The three of them look over when they walk in the door, the glare they send Jensen’s way second only to Superman’s heat vision, before they stick their heads together and start muttering again.

Jensen sinks into the empty seat next to Mike’s. He’s half expecting Hayden to jump up and start shouting about how he’s got the gay and they all need to stay clear of him now, but he doesn’t. He gives Jensen the dirtiest look in his repertoire, but he doesn’t say a word.

Jensen hunches his shoulders and tries not to look over to Hayden’s table. It’s making him uneasy, not knowing what they’re going to do. Jared doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he doesn’t even seem to remember what happened. He’s still as touchy-feely as ever, or maybe even more so, always keeping an arm around Jensen’s shoulder or an ankle curled around his.

And it doesn’t stop, not that day, or the next, and it doesn’t even matter if it’s really early or ridiculously late at night. Even at six in the morning, when they’re about to leave for their away game against the Sand Devils, Jared dozes with his head on Jensen’s shoulder, only jerking upright when Morgan whistles on two fingers.

“Okay, kids,” he says loudly. “You all know the drill. Seven with Justin, seven with me, gear in the trunk. Let’s move out!”

Jensen picks up his bag and slings his arm around Jared’s waist. “Come on, Bigfoot,” he coaxes. “Van. Sleep.”

Jared nods and mumbles something indistinguishable into Jensen’s windbreaker. It takes Jensen several moments and a lot of sheer determination to maneuver Jared to the open sliding door.

“Come on, Sasquatch,” he coaxes. “In you go.” 

“Dibs on the back,” Jared mumbles.

People shuffle aside so Jared can move his bulk past them and wedge himself through the tiny opening. Jensen passes him his backpack and puts his own down on the ground before he gets in as well, trying to avoid Jared’s flailing limbs while he gets settled.

Dan starts to climb in after them, but Tom stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “You do not want to sit in the backseat with ten feet of Paddywhack,” he explains at Dan’s confused frown. “Trust me.”

“So where else am I supposed to sit?” Dan protests. “It’s not like I can ride in the trunk.”

Justin, already buckled in and everything, turns around and glares at them all. “Steve’s not coming, so there’s an empty seat,” he says. “And now sit your asses down and shut the hell up.”

It’s rare that Justin starts swearing, so it takes a surprisingly short time to get everybody seated and ready to go after that. The seat between Jared and Jensen stays free. Usually they’d fit exactly, but with Steve staying home, they have room to stretch out. The lunch staff agreed to bring Steve food trays for lunch and dinner and Mike left him his laptop with all his illegally downloaded movies, but Jensen still feels kind of bad about it. He can’t imagine anything worse than watching your team drive away and knowing that there’s nothing you can do to help them.

He’s not sure anyone else really minds, though. Jared yawns, shifts to rest his back against the window, and shoves his feet into Jensen’s lap. “Wake me when we get there,” he mumbles.

Jensen pretends to be outraged for a moment, but there isn’t really a point when Jared’s eyes are already closing, so instead he rests his hand on Jared’s knees and lets his own lids flutter shut.

Jensen has been filming empty fields and telephone poles go by for a good half an hour by the time a pothole startles Jared awake. He sits up and closes his mouth but keeps his feet in Jensen’s lap.

Jensen flicks the camera around to capture Jared’s sleep-befuddled expression. Jared scowls at him.

Jensen turns the camera off and rests his hand on Jared’s foot in apology. “We’re about twenty minutes out,” he says.

Jared nods, yawning, and rubs sleep crust from the side of his nose. “I want breakfast,” he mutters.

Jensen wants to laugh, to say that Jared always wants food, that he’s a bottomless pit, but then Jared smiles sleepily and mouths something that could be “Missed you,” and all of Jensen’s witty banter goes straight out the window. He settles for smiling instead, soft and sweet, and hopes nobody turns around. He probably has hearts in his eyes.

The Sand Devils are one of the few teams that actually practice on their home campus. Their buildings are from the seventies, grey concrete blocks. It’s clear that someone tried to spruce it up a little while back, even if the colorful paintings on the wall look like they belong in a middle school instead. But their field’s decent, at least, clean, neatly trimmed grass that’s not bone-dry but not too wet either, so Jensen tries to avoid being a snob about it. Not everyone can spend their summers at Hart, after all.

They get in a bit early, actually, which is unfortunate because it could have meant another half hour of sleep for them all. But there’s no helping it, so they get to sit in a damp and smelly dressing room while they wait for breakfast to get set up. Jared dozes with his head on Jensen’s shoulder, hot air ghosting over Jensen’s neck with every breath, his arms wrapped around his gym bag. Jensen has to fight so hard to keep from grinning like an idiot that he doesn’t even care about the nasty looks Hayden and Strait give the pair of them.

“Can’t we at least get some coffee?” Mike whines.

“No one in their right mind would give you coffee,” Justin comments from where he leans against the doorjamb, flipping through paperwork.

“Low blow,” Mike protests.

Justin raises his eyebrows at him, and he shrugs.

They all descend into sleepy silence for a while until Morgan suddenly appears in the door. “Breakfast is on, kids,” he says. He’s almost bowled over by Mike when the guy runs for the door, and shakes his head. “Don’t get too excited,” he says. “It’s not that great.”

To everyone’s relief, it’s not all bad, either. It’s mostly croissants and rolls, a few pieces of fruit and some yogurt, so not exactly a breakfast of champions, but whatever. Jensen’s not that hungry, anyway. He picks at the pastry on his plate, stomach too tied up in knots to do more than nibble at a corner, while Jared goes off to get a second helping of food.

Chris twists his lips into a smile. “You good?” he asks.

“Sure,” Jensen mutters, but before Chris can call him on the blatant lie, Jared comes back.

He sets another plate, one almost as full as his own, in front of Jensen. “Coach’s orders,” he explains. “He said you either eat or you don’t play.”

Jensen cranes his head around to find Morgan staring him down from the other end of the dining hall. Flushing, he turns back around and picks up his fork. The eggs are soggy and the bacon is on the burnt side, and he has to down half of his milk just to keep his stomach from sending everything back up. At his side, Jared cheerfully shovels hash browns into his mouth. If Jensen didn’t know him well enough to recognize the way his fingers are clenched around his fork, he’d say he wasn’t concerned at all.

It seems like no time at all before Morgan herds them back into the locker room and puffs himself up to his usual pep talk.

“Smooth and steady today, boys,” he says. “No adventures and no risks. You get that ball into that goal, and that’s all you worry about. This is gonna be hard, yeah, but if you concentrate, we can make it to the final.”

A nervous titter runs through the room, and Morgan’s face grows hard. “And I mean concentrate. If I see anyone scanning the stands, you’re off the field like that.” He snaps his fingers. “So don’t even bother. No scout’s gonna be impressed if we lose because you were off in La La Land fantasizing about your glorious career.”

There’s not much to be said after that, and they get changed in relative silence. Mike tries to joke around but earns nothing but stares and he drops his head to pull up his socks.

Walking out onto the field is nerve-wracking. This is the first opponent they’ve had all summer that’s actually a real threat, and they all feel it. There’s a thick sort of atmosphere around them all, weighing them down, keeping them from cheering and high-fiving when they walk out the way the other team does.

The coin toss is over before Jensen even has time to focus, and he picks the side that’s playing away from the sun. That’s gotta be good, right? A good sign.

Then the ref’s whistle blares and Jared takes off like the Tasmanian devil. He sweeps the ball out of his opponent’s way with the side of his foot and tears down the field, leaving the audience cheering and the other team stumped.

But not for long. Within moments, they’ve regrouped and they’re swarming forward, going for the ball like it’s the last bit of honey on the planet. Chris steals the ball from their 16 and goes for it but loses it again halfway down the field, and then 28 is going for it, passing to their other forward who passes it back and the ball is in, and Austin High is losing, for the first time all summer.

For a moment, they’re all stumped. Mike puts his gloved hand over his face, expression like he just bit into a grapefruit. He’s not the only one. It takes a moment for them to start moving again, to shuffle their feet and get back into the groove.

Jared, though. He’s all over the place. “Come on, guys,” he shouts across the field. “We can still do this!”

Except of course whenever Jared is really into something, things go down the drain. Jared’s way too aggressive, hogging the ball like some freshman. And fouling people. Fouling them left and right, and after Jared steals a ball from number 66 with a particularly vicious move, the ref blows his whistle.

He holds the yellow card into the air and a couple of parents supporting the other team cheer. Jensen thinks that’s kinda mean. Yeah, they probably want their kids to do well, but you can always support them tactfully. And he doesn’t even want to think about how that must make Jared feel.

Or, well. Maybe he doesn’t have to think about it, because Jared is just going to announce it to the world. “It was not,” he calls after the ref.

On the sidelines, Justin covers his eyes with his hand, and Morgan throws up his hands in disbelief. Jared looks ready to sprint after the ref and wrestle that damn card out of his hands, but, just, no. Not on Jensen’s watch.

“Jared,” he calls.

Jared whirls around, ready to bite his head off by the looks of it, but Jensen squarely meets his eyes.

“Calm down,” he says, quietly but clearly enough that he knows Jared can read his lips. “Calm _the fuck_ down, right now.”

Jared looks away, flicks his gaze back to Jensen, then down at his feet.

Jensen’s just glad when it’s time for their half-time break, because it’s only been forty-five minutes and he’s already exhausted. Jared gets reamed out by Morgan of course, and trudges back onto the field with a face like the world just ended.

Usually there’s some sort of excitement during matches, even if it’s just that your parents are there to watch you play. But this, this is just painful. They fight for forty-five minutes but nothing, they’re still behind. They’re still losing.

Sweat drips into Jensen’s eyes.

All they have to do is score. They can make up for whatever they’re lacking in overtime, once they’ve rested a little. Once Jensen no longer feels like his heart is going to thump out of his chest.

And then he sees it. There it is, an opening so perfect and clear. He bursts forward with energy he didn’t even know he had, steals the ball right from 63’s feet, dodges around their midfielder, and Jared is there, _right there_ to sink the ball in the net, clean and flawless, absolutely beautiful, and they’ve made it.

They’ve made it.

“OFFSIDES!?” Jared roars, slamming his fist into the locker door.

A couple of people flinch away from him, but Jensen can’t bring himself to move. His legs feel like someone took out all the bones and filled them with lead instead. Just untying his cleats takes way too much energy.

Jared kicks the locker door, once, twice, slams it shut when it springs open from the force. He’s going all-out, yelling and screaming like a maniac. Jensen’s just kind of glad Morgan and Justin aren’t here yet. Jared’s already going to get his ass handed to him for flipping out during the game. He doesn’t need another lecture for damaging other people’s property.

Tom gives him this look, like Jensen should be doing something about Jared, but Jensen barely has the energy to hold himself upright. Jared’s bursting with energy right now, and Jensen knows from experience that it’s best to just let him work off his frustration. He comes down on his own.

Jensen leans his head against his locker. He can’t even wrap his mind around how much of a shit show this is. According to the ref, Jared was in offsides when Jensen passed to him. Their goal doesn’t count, meaning no overtime, meaning no win for Austin High. They lost. They’re out of the running for the cup, and the second yellow card Jared got for flipping out at the ref means that Jared is banned from playing the game that determines third place. And Jared is certainly going to town over it, if the way he’s whaling on the furniture is any indication.

Nobody even dares to look at Jared. It’s a little funny – Jensen had never even realized how scared everyone is of Jared in a huff, and how little Jensen is intimidated by him. By Strait and Hayden and even Morgan sometimes, yeah, but not Jared.

The rest of the team looks seriously spooked, though, so Jensen tries to project a bit of authority in his voice when he speaks. “Chill out, Jay,” he says.

Jared scowls but drops down on the bench, to everybody’s relief.

Jensen looks from him over to Mike, leaning against a locker with his eyes closed. The lines around his mouth are etched in deep. Jensen hates that expression in him, and he wishes that he could tell Mike that it wasn’t his fault, but the most uplifting thing his brain can supply is, “It wasn’t like you knew that their striker would outmaneuver you.” So he keeps his mouth shut.

It’s still quiet when Morgan and Justin show up, stormy expressions on both their faces. They don’t even attempt to give them a pep talk, and Jensen is grateful for that. He doesn’t think he could take any metaphorical back-patting right now.

“Okay, boys, time to go home,” Morgan says. “Get yourselves changed and on the buses. We’re leaving in ten.”

The noise level picks up a little bit while everybody gets their stuff together, but it’s still eerily quiet. Nobody says anything as they start filing out the door.

“No fighting,” Morgan calls after them, loudly enough that no one can pretend not to hear.

One by one, they shuffle out the door, dragging their duffle bags with them. Hayden, Strait and Chase glare at Jensen on their way out, but Jensen can’t really make himself care. He pulls his cleats off his feet and stuffs them into his bag, puts on his sneakers instead. He turns to Jared, to try to coax him into moving, but Morgan gets there before he can.

“Jared, stay a moment, would you?” His voice is low, tone boding Bad Things for whoever it’s directed at, and Jared sags even more.

Jensen gets up and shoulders his bag, stands there for a moment because he doesn’t want to leave Jared to go through this on his own, but Morgan doesn’t look like he wants company.

“Jensen, could you wait outside?”

“Yeah, sure, coach,” Jensen assures him hastily. He stuffs his things into his bag and slings it over his shoulder. He ducks his head to catch Jared’s eye, make sure he’s okay, but Jared won’t even look his way. So Jensen goes. He lets the door drift shut behind him, but just enough that there’s still a slit through which he can see what’s going on in the locker room. He sets his bag down as quietly as humanly possible, and then he settles in to eavesdrop.

Jared still hasn’t moved, but Justin and Morgan have. Justin leans against the lockers to Jared’s right, mouth in a flat, unreadable line. Morgan is on Jared’s other side, broad and imposing, eyes dark and alive with anger. They look like the inquisition, grimly watching the top of Jared’s head while they deal him the finishing blow, twist the knife in a little deeper.

Jensen can see Morgan exchange a dark look with Justin before he speaks.

“What exactly did you think you were doing out there?” he asks.

Jared shrugs. He’s still staring at his shoes, but Morgan doesn’t let him get away that easily.

“Jared, that was absolutely unacceptable. Even if you hadn’t gotten that red card, a well-deserved one I might add, you still would not have been playing the next game. You understanding me?”

Jared nods without looking up.

“You understand me?” Morgan repeats.

“Yes, Coach,” Jared says to his knees.

“I’m not sure you’ll be playing at all until I can trust you to keep your temper in check.” Morgan nods grimly when Jared lifts disbelieving eyes. “Yes, even during the regular season. I have half a mind to keep you riding the bench all of next semester.”

In his hiding place, Jensen bites down on his lip, hard. That, that is a death sentence right there. The few scouts who don’t come to the regular games just to keep their eyes on their chosen favorites are not going to be impressed by someone who sits on the bench for every game.

“Yes, coach,” Jared whispers, broken, voice thick with tears, and Jensen turns his head away.

He can’t watch this anymore.

As quietly as he can, he picks up his gear and tiptoes down the hallway. He almost gets lost navigating the dark corridors, but the good thing about Texas heat is that you can feel it from a mile away. It only gets more biting when he pushes open the door and he has to fight to not just drag his bag across the pavement. Still drags his feet though.

God damn it, this day couldn’t get any more fucked up if it tried. Yeah, they can still get third place, but their shot at a first is gone. Jared’s on the bench for the next game. Steve’s out of commission anyway, and with the tension that’s blossoming all over the place? They’ll be lucky if they can get in a single shot at the goal during the next match.

The heat outside nearly flattens him. He can hear cheering from somewhere, the other team celebrating their victory, but he couldn’t feel any less jubilant if he tried. Dragging himself across the parking lot takes forever, and the entire time he can feel eyes watching him from the other bus. Doesn’t bother to look up.  
He throws his bag into the back, leaving the door open for Jared once he’s finally released from hell, and climbs into the back. Mike turns and gives him a curious look, but Jensen turns away to stare out the window.

Across the parking lot, the doors push open again and there’s Jared, immediately followed by Justin and Morgan. They all look equally grim, but Jared is deathly pale, too, a sickly green color around his mouth. He doesn’t seem to notice when Morgan heads over to the other van, just shuffles forward blindly.

He gets onto the bus without a word. Everybody looks up at him, but nobody dares say anything at the expression on his face, instead shuffling around to let him climb through to the back. He slumps down in his seat and pulls his backpack into his lap. Jensen is ninety percent positive that he’s looking for his candy, but instead Jared gets out his iPod and slowly unravels the mess of headphones wrapped around it.

Jensen doesn’t bother asking him if he’s alright. It’s a retarded question, and one that might make Jared blow up at him and the world when asked at an inopportune time. But that doesn’t mean he’s just going to sit here and do nothing. He nudges Jared with his knee but Jared only turns farther towards the window and turns the music up so loud Jensen can hear the tinny baseline coming from his headphones.

“Shit,” Jensen says, more to himself than anybody.

The van rocks when Justin slams the back doors shut. A moment later, he gets into the driver seat and starts up the car.

Jared leans his forehead against the window and closes his eyes, but he’s not falling asleep, Jensen can tell. Jared asleep is loose-limbed and slack-jawed, with a permanent almost smile on his face. Here, now, there’s not a single relaxed muscle in Jared’s body.

The van hasn’t even properly stopped before Jared bolts. Jensen sighs, ignores everyone else’s looks, and follows him. When he gets to their room, Jared’s backpack is there but Jared isn’t, so Jensen puts his stuff down by the foot of his door and goes to see Steve.

Steve’s “Come in,” is quiet and Jensen opens the door carefully, thinking he might have been asleep. But he’s sitting up in bed, wide-awake if haggard looking, idly toying with the corner of a magazine.

“Hey,” Jensen says.

Steve looks up at him without smiling, and Jensen sighs.

“Chris broke the news already?” he asks.

Steve shakes his head. “He didn’t have to,” he says. “The expression said it all.”

“Alright.” Jensen edges into the room and lets the door snick shut behind him. “Wanna know all the sordid details?”

“Sure,” Steve says. He shifts his legs to make room for Jensen at the foot of the bed. “I’m already halfway miserable. Might as well go all the way.”

Jensen takes a deep breath and then he just talks, recounting the match from start to finish, analyzing their flaws, their strengths, where they fucked up the most.

“Sounds like it was shit,” Steve says, when Jensen’s finally talked himself hoarse.

“You could say that,” Jensen says weakly.

Steve smiles and nudges his elbow. “You know what they say about rock bottom, though, right?”

“That we can just pack it in now?” Jensen asks. “You guys are our best strikers. Without you, we’re screwed. Totally screwed.”

“We’re not your only strikers,” Steve tells him.

Jensen rolls his eyes. “There’s a reason Dan and Khleo are riding the bench, Steve,” he says.

“Yes.” Steve pins him with a look. “Jared and I are better than they are. They’re still good enough to be on the team, Jensen, and you know that.”

“Barely,” Jensen mutters, remembering Dan’s fuck-ups earlier in the championships. They have a striker with no self-confidence and one who’s good but moves at approximately the same speed as a snail. God, they’re so screwed.

“Dan and Khleo will come through,” Steve interrupts his dark musings sternly. “Come on, Jensen. You’re our captain. Have a little faith.”

Jensen immediately feels bad. He’s usually the one who stays optimistic until the bitter end, at least when he’s talking to other players. Diplomacy is the key, especially with a sport that’s all showmanship and hurt masculine pride. He rarely ever talks badly of his team, no matter how much he might secretly think they suck.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“No worries.” Steve offers him a small smile. “I’m gonna take a nap, ‘cause I’m exhausted just listening to you. But you,” he pokes Jensen in the chest, “you should go find Jared and talk him down of whatever funk he’s going to be in. He’s going to be taking this one hard.”

Jensen looks down at his hands and sighs. “You’re right,” he says. He peers up at Steve and grins. “Oh wise old man,” he says, and flees the room before Steve can dislodge a cushion to hit him with.

Waking up the next morning is a chore. Jensen drags himself into the bathroom, runs his toothbrush over his teeth haphazardly.

He hasn’t seen Jared since the game. Khleo told him after dinner that he was out running laps around the field, but by the time Jensen got there, the track was empty.   
If Jared slept in their room, he came in after Jensen finally dozed off and left before Jensen startled awake in the morning. He skips breakfast, too, which is when Jensen really kind of starts to worry. Jared missing meals is unthinkable.

He’s on the field when Jensen makes his way out there but he refuses to say a word, not to Jensen, not to anyone, chasing the ball with a grim determination that makes Jensen ache for him. Morgan watches without saying a word, either approving or disapproving, lets Jared run himself into the ground and then get back up and drag himself back to the starting line.

He disappears the minute Morgan tells them to head in. Jensen kind of figures he was going to try and drown himself in their shower, but when he gets back to room,   
Jared lies stiffly on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

Jared turns his head to meet his gaze with bleary eyes. “That’s a dumb fucking question, Jensen,” he says.

Jensen stands frozen for a moment, because yes, it kind of is, but at least Jared is still talking. “Shouldn’t have been offsides,” he mutters.

“I shouldn’t have passed to you,” Jensen objects. “Mike shouldn’t have let them score. We _all_ lost, Jared.”

“But none of you lost your cool doing it,” Jared says glumly. “There definitely won’t be any scouts in my future.”

Jensen, his belly contracting painfully, sits down next to him. He lets his hand rest on Jared’s rock-hard chest. “Don’t say that,” he says. “We still have the entire season in front of us.”

“You know as well as I do that that doesn’t matter,” Jared says. He turns his head to stare at his bedside table. “The real decisions are made here.”

Jensen wishes he could deny it, but it’s one of those things that are still true even though nobody acknowledges it. “You could play in college,” he says. “There’ll be scouts there.”

“I don’t want to go to college,” Jared says. “You of all people should get that.”

And he does. He gets it all too well. That’s why he doesn’t say anything when Jared rolls over and pulls his pillow over his head.

The next day, Jared doesn’t go to practice at all. He pushes Jensen away when he tries to pull the covers from his face, and when Jensen goes to talk to Morgan, the man says he already knows. But that’s all he’ll say about it, and even though Jensen spends all morning drilling into the man with his eyes, he’s not any smarter at lunch than he was before.

He tells Chris to save him a seat and takes the stairs two at a time to get back to their room, bursting inside fully expecting Jared to still be asleep. Or possibly dying.

Instead, Jared’s sitting on his neatly made bed, half in shadow with all the shades drawn, cell phone pressed to his ear. “No, Dad-“ he says. He hitches a breath. “Dad, please. I don’t want- No, sir. No, sir, I’m not. I wouldn’t.”

He looks over to Jensen, then flicks his gaze away. Jensen takes that as an invitation to do whatever he wants, so he sits down on Jared’s bed and puts his hand on Jared’s knee.

After a long moment, Jared covers Jensen’s fingers with his own. “I don’t _want_ to go to Georgetown,” he bursts out. He’s silent for a moment. “I want to play, Dad. Play soccer. That’s all I’ve wanted since kindergarten, and I know you know that.” He lets his head drop back against the wall. “It’s not the same,” he says quietly.

In the silence, Jensen can hear Jared’s father say something, low and rumbling, and Jared sighs.

“Yes, sir,” he says. “I’ll talk to you soon.” He hangs up and lets the phone drop off the side of the bed. “God damn it,” he says, quietly but heartfelt.

Jensen very, very carefully lifts his hand and lets it rest against the side of Jared’s neck. Jared’s entire body tenses but he doesn’t shrug him off, doesn’t twist away, and Jensen lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Talk to me, man,” he says quietly.

“What’s there to talk about?” Jared asks back. He sounds desolate, not pissy. “I fucked up, I paid the price. End of story.”

“We didn’t lose because of you,” Jensen reminds him.

Jared sighs explosively. He scrubs his hands over his face. “I know,” he says. “But I certainly didn’t help matters.”

“No, you didn’t.” Jensen lets his thumb stroke along the bony ridge of Jared’s shoulder blade. “But we didn’t lose because of you.”

Jared shakes his head. “When did you get all Zen, dude?”

Jensen’s lips curl into a smile. “Somebody has to be the girl in this relationship.”

Jared purses his lips, confused, and Jensen grins at him.

“Figured it might as well be you.”

Jared smacks him with a protesting “Hey!,” but it’s half-hearted at best. He doesn’t even try to get away when Jensen pull him towards the bed. “Come on,” he says.   
“You could probably use some sleep.”

“Not gonna lie,” Jared says, yawning. He curls up half on top of Jensen, which says something considering how much of him there is, and dozes off on Jensen’s shoulder, eyes hooded and body slack. Jensen isn’t sure what he’s looking at, if he’s even looking at anything, but whatever it is, Jared seems relaxed for the first time in days.

Jensen strokes Jared’s bare arm with his fingers, drawing nonsense patterns on his skin. Strangely enough, it makes Jensen feel better, too, lying here, feeling Jared grow more and more relaxed with every minute that passes.

After a while, when the shadows have grown long in the room, Jared stirs. “Could you live here?” he asks. “Year-round, I mean.”

Jensen shakes his head. He doesn’t even have to think about that one. “I would be bored out of my freaking mind,” he says. He thinks for a moment. “And I don’t even do all that much.”

“I think I wouldn’t mind,” Jared says. “Lots of space. For dogs and stuff.”

“We can’t even see a movie in this godforsaken place,” Jensen comments.

“Mike brought his laptop,” Jared says. He sounds half-asleep, doesn’t even look at Jensen. “He has movies on his iTunes.”

“Mike only watches crappy horror movies,” Jensen says. “Wasn’t he the one who wanted everyone to go see Zombie Strippers for his birthday?”

“Yeah, okay, that one was pretty bad,” Jared concedes. “But he’s got some decent ones.”

“Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know. Pitch Black.”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Pitch Black was not a good movie.”

“It was decent,” Jared says.

“The characterizations suck!” Jensen rises up onto his elbows and stares over at Jared’s bed. He’d half tempted to switch on the lamp on the nightstand so he can properly glare at him in the faded light. “They’re completely 2D. Is a bit of realism really too much to ask for?”

“It’s a movie about people-eating dinosaurs,” Jared says after a moment.

“That doesn’t mean it can’t be well-made.”

“Yeah, it does,” Jared protests.

Jensen rolls his eyes. Then he shrieks when Jared buries his fingers in Jensen’s side.

Jared stills. “Dude,” Jared says. “Do you want people to hear us?”

Jensen flushes immediately. “Definitely not,” he says.

Jared digs his fingers into Jensen’s ribs again and chuckles when Jensen yelps and tries to twist away. “You squeal like a little girl,” he whispers into Jensen’s ear.

“I do not,” Jensen protests.

“Do too,” Jared singsongs. He just laughs at Jensen’s misery until Jensen pushes weakly at his shoulder and pants, “Okay. Fine! I give, I give. It’s not the shittiest movie ever, whatever.”

“I want you to remember this moment,” Jared says, looming ominously. “The way it could have gone, and didn’t.”

Jensen kicks his legs. It doesn’t do anything, but it does make him feel a little better. “Get off me, you dick.”

Jared slides off of him with infuriatingly slow movements. He swings his legs off the bed, but Jensen snags his sleeve. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“You said ‘get off,’” Jared protests.

Jensen tugs on his wrist. “I didn’t mean it.”

There’s a knock on the door and they pull apart reluctantly.

“Who is it?” Jared calls.

It’s Justin, actually, sticking his head into the room with a frown. “Hey Jensen,” he says. “Coach wants to know if you ever plan on coming back to practice.”

Jensen gets raked over the coals for ditching practice, but he thinks Morgan understands, because despite the fifteen laps he makes Jensen run, Morgan still smiles at him before he leaves. So it’s understandable that Jensen is in a pretty good mood when he wanders into the dining hall right before dinner ends. Jared isn’t there, and Chris and Steve are probably holed up in their rooms. Even the coaches are gone, but Jensen doesn’t care, he’s too hungry, and he heads straight to the buffet.

The hamburgers are already in sight when Hayden and Chase step between him and Heaven.

Hayden’s expression is particularly ugly. “That was some pretty bad playing last match,” he says.

When Jensen frowns at him, he answers it with a sneer. “Spend too much time on your knees to learn the rules right?” he asks. “Or were you just distracted by seeing Jared all hot and sweaty?”

Jensen stares at him, a cold knot slowly forming in his stomach. He should have known this was coming. Should have. He just hadn’t thought they would actually be that cruel.

Adam gives Hayden a look. “What are you talking about, man?” he asks.

Hayden smirks at him. “I’m afraid our darling, straight-laced little team captain has a second hobby… of sucking cock.”

PJ laughs. “What?”

“What are you talking about, man?” Mike asks. He’s frowning, not at Jensen but at Strait. “Jensen’s not gay.”

“Have you ever even heard him talk about a girl?” Hayden asks loudly. “Any hook-ups? Or, God forbid, actually doing one?”

“So?” Tom cuts in. “There are plenty of guys here that don’t have a girl.”

“And not everybody feels the need to tell the world about their dick, Strait,” Mike adds.

“Yeah,” Strait says, drawn-out and slow. “But Jensen here’s a bit different.” He smiles sweetly. “Aren’t you, darlin’?”

“What the hell,” Mike says. “Come on, Jenny, tell him he’s being an ass.”

But Jensen doesn’t. He can’t. Even if he said the words, nobody would believe him. And the longer he’s silent, the more distant his teammates get. The more hostile their eyes.

“Aw, baby,” Hayden says. “Guess it’s true, hm? You love a nice, big dick up your ass.”

Jensen shakes his head. “Knock it off,” he says thickly. He is not going to cry in front of them. He’s not.

Chase contorts his face into a mockingly heartbroken expression. “Or what?” he asks. “You’re going to call your mommy?”

And that, of course, is when Jared bounds in, all smiles and hearts and flowers. “There you are,” he says. He slides his arm around Jensen’s shoulders and looks around, at all the hostile, suddenly comprehending faces. “What’s going on?”

Hayden shrugs. “The team just found out about the little fairy in our midst,” he says nonchalantly. Like he had nothing to do with it.

Jared stiffens. “Excuse me?” he says.

Strait motions in their general direction. “You know, Jensen. You musta known he likes cock.”

“Are you serious?” Jared asks, but it’s ‘are you really this big of a douchebag’ and not ‘I just found out my roommate’s gay,’ and everyone can tell.

The room is suddenly, unexpectedly quiet.

“What, we’re gay-bashing now?” Jared sneers, sharp and biting. His eyes are blazing with anger.

Jensen can see several people ducking their heads. “Jared, stop it,” he whispers.

“No, I’m not going to stop it,” Jared snaps at him, loudly. “I’m not just gonna stand here and do nothing while they’re being assholes.”

“It’s not that important,” Jensen insists.

“Oh, tell that to the thousands of people who march in pride parades,” Jared tells him. He lets his gaze sweep over the room. “What is wrong with you guys? I though we got over this shit like, five decades ago.”

Strait shakes his head. “What, we’re just supposed to ‘get over’ the fact that you ditched us for some little fairy?”

“Dude, grow up!” Jared says. “We’re not in fucking middle school, okay? I can be friends with you and friends with Jensen at the same time.”

“Can you?” Strait asks back. “’Cause as of right now, you’re spending all your precious time with Jenny over here and none of it with your guys.”

“Are you sure you’re not the gay one?” Mike throws in. “’Cause you sounded just like a girl, there.”

A nervous chuckle runs through the room, but Jared is not amused. “What is wrong with you?” Jared snaps at Strait. “So I’m spending time with Jensen. It’s not the freaking end of the world. Get over yourself already.”

Jensen ducks his head. “Forget about it, Jay. It’s okay.”

“It is not okay!”

And Jensen can’t take it anymore. Face bright red, with everybody’s eyes on him, he twists out from underneath Jared’s arm and ducks out into the hallway.  
Jared follows him, of course. He just doesn’t get when to leave well enough alone. Never has. Even now, with Jensen flat-out telling him to leave it be, he still reaches for Jensen’s shoulder. “Jen,” he starts, but Jensen shakes him off.

“Forget about it,” he says. He can’t make himself look at Jared.

“I’m sorry about the guys,” Jared says earnestly, “They’re retarded, they really are.”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Jensen says.

“Jensen…” Jared begins again, earnest and sweet and sincere, and Jensen can’t handle that right now.

“It’s fine, Jared,” he says. “I’m tired. I think I’ll go upstairs and sleep for a while.”

He doesn’t turn around when he walks away. He can’t make himself. He knows what he would see if he did, knows exactly how heartbroken and hurt Jared would look, and he knows he couldn’t live with himself knowing that he was the one to put that expression on Jared’s face.

Jensen is still awake three hours later. The hallways have been quiet, silent and deserted, ever since he got back to their room. He hasn’t seen or heard from Jared since then. He thought about calling his mom for a while, but he knows she’d hear that something is wrong, and he has no idea how to explain this to her.

And he’s angry. Because they had to drag him bodily out of the closet before he could even find his footing, while everything is still so new and raw. But also because it’s not just like Jensen is gay with himself. He’s with Jared, and Hayden knows that, and Jensen doesn’t want them to treat Jared like they did him but it still feels unfair.

And yeah, Jared is the popular one. Always has been. Jensen is a bit of a geek, he’s in the drama club – he was in a chess competition once, for crying out loud – and Jared spends most of the year hanging out with the football jocks, so it makes sense that Jensen would be the one getting picked on.

The door opens quietly. It’s Jared of course, and as glad Jensen is to see him, he also feels bad about being an ass, so he rolls over and focuses on the wall. He expects Jared to leave, isn’t sure if he wants him to or not, so it’s a surprise when Jared’s hand is suddenly on his shoulder.

“Hi,” he whispers. His hot breath ghosts over Jensen’s neck.

“Hi,” Jensen whispers back.

Jared pushes at his hip. “Shove over.” He bodily moves Jensen over before Jensen even has a chance to react and climbs in next to him, pawing at Jensen’s shoulder until he turns around.

“What?” Jensen asks, almost silently.

Jared trails the back of his finger along Jensen’s cheek. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.”

“What, so they could have torn you apart too?” Jensen asks bitterly.

Jared’s thumb slides outwards right underneath Jensen’s eye, but Jensen refuses to acknowledge the reason for it.

“Yeah,” Jared finally says, gently. “So they could have torn me apart, too.”

Jensen wants to say something witty, something disparaging, but somehow the words all die on his tongue. Instead he finds himself leaning forward, and next thing he knows Jared has his hand on the back of Jensen’s neck, pulling him in to rest his forehead on Jared’s neck.

“I’m so very sorry,” Jared whispers to him.

“It’s okay,” Jensen tells him, after a moment. Because _he_ might not be okay, but this isn’t Jared’s fault. None of it is.

“Faster!” Morgan yells, and Jensen bites back a curse. He’s already going so fast his legs are burning, guiding the ball around the slalom course of orange disks. He’s sweaty and tired, worn down by Hayden and Strait and Chase following his every move with their eyes. Jensen kinda feels like the only bunny in a cage full of hungry cobras.

He makes it past the last mark without wheezing or collapsing and passes the ball to Justin, who gives him a grin.

“Fifty seconds,” Morgan yells. And fifty seconds really shouldn’t wear him down that much, but it’s been the fourth time around and they’ve been practicing for almost three hours already in what feels like a hundred and fifty degrees.

“Come on, Jared. Let’s see if you can beat him this time around.”

Jared grins. He’s jogging in place like it’s nothing even though his shirt is plastered to his skin and that’s definitely sunburn spreading over his nose. Jensen probably shouldn’t resent him for the fact, especially because Jared hasn’t had to run a single lap yet today, but it’s not like Jared carries the weight of his teammates’ disapproval on his shoulders. PJ and Adam won’t even meet Jensen’s eyes, and everybody still talks to Jared like nothing ever happened. It’s just frustrating.

Morgan throws Jared a ball and he’s off like a shot. He’s doing his best Energizer bunny expression and clearly loving it.

Over where the rest of the guys sit sprawled out in the grass, Zac heaves himself upright with a groan. He’s up next once Jared is done, but he doesn’t seem half as motivated. He looks a lot like Jensen feels, actually.

Jensen wanders over to the group and sits down at the very edge, laying his arms on his knees and pretending not to notice how Julian subtly shifts away. He watches Jared instead, laughing as he missteps and has to round one of the disks again, with enough energy to perform a silly little dance when he finishes and Morgan calls,   
“Forty-five seconds, nice job.”

The guys cheer and whistle. Zac high-fives Jared when he saunters past, and a moment later, Jared drops down on the grass next to Jensen and nudges him with his shoulder.

“Is this awesome or what?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Jensen mutters. “Just peachy.”

Jared looks at him sideways. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Nothing,” he says.

Jared turns to face him. “It’s obviously not ‘nothing,’” he says.

“Just forget about it,” Jensen says, even though the look on his face says that there’s nothing Jared wants to do less.

The next drill puts their half-whispered argument on hold, but only until they’re both back in their room.

“Seriously, what is your problem?” Jared demands.

“What isn’t my problem?” Jensen shoots back. “My life blows, okay? It really, really blows.”

“Oh, knock it off with the pity party,” Jared snaps. “You’re not the only one who’s having a hard time with this, okay?

Jensen pushes at Jared’s shoulder. “Oh yeah, I can tell how hard of a time you’re having,” he snaps. “Basketball, people to sit with at dinner, your life sure does blow.”

Jared catches Jensen’s wrist and glares at him. “What, you think the guys don’t give me shit when you’re not around?”

Jensen rolls his eyes. This has kind of mutated beyond the shit-giving phase. “They don’t look at you like they look at me,” he says.

“No, they just tell me every minute of every day that I shouldn’t be with you,” Jared retorts with an eye roll. “That this is a fluke and you’re not worth it and I shouldn’t ruin my life just because I deluded myself into having feelings for you.”

And shit, Jensen did not think of that. He’s such an idiot. He can’t be playing with Jared like this, he’s not that great of a catch. And one of these days, Jared’s gonna realize what a basket case he is, and then what’ll he have?

“I’m sorry,” he says. “God, Jared. I’m so sorry.”

Jared catches him by the arms, tightly enough that Jensen thinks he might leave bruises, and gives him a little shake. “Jensen,” he says. “Knock it off, okay. I know it seems hard, but really, what are they going to do?”

Jensen practically sleepwalks through the next day. He spent the night worrying too much to sleep, and by the time dinner rolls around, he’s pretty much dead on his feet. So when he suddenly finds himself crashing to the floor, he thinks he just didn’t look where he was going. Until he hears the laughter, that is.

Of course that doesn’t make him feel any better about things. His knee feels like someone bashed at it with a sledgehammer. He hopes like hell it’s just a nasty bruise and not anything more serious. If he can’t play the last game because some asshole tripped him in the hall, Jensen is going to be _pissed_.

“What the fuck?” he says, twisting around.

Hayden frowns innocently. “What, you don’t like being on your knees?” he asks.

Jensen’s angry rant dies on his lips. Almost everyone is here. Not Jared, not Chris or Steve or Tom or Mike, but everyone else is, and they’re all just standing there and looking at him. He hadn’t expected all of them to be wildly supportive, of course, but at least some of them could have the decency to stand up for him. He knows Jared would. Jared can’t be the only decent human being on this stupid team.

Jensen turns pleading eyes on Dan, but he just shrugs apologetically and turns away. He chuckles weakly when someone punches him in the shoulder, but Jensen doesn’t care how half-hearted it is. Dan, at the very least, knows exactly what being at the bottom of the food chain feels like, and could at least offer some support. Some sort of loyalty between outcasts.

No such luck apparently.

Jensen picks himself up with as much dignity as he can manage and limps out of the room, trying hard to pretend that he isn’t running away.

Jensen is a coward. Anybody else would be out there right now, kicking douchebag ass and taking homophobic names. Jensen? Hides in the equipment room.

He hadn’t been planning on it, but after he had gathered up all the disks Morgan had asked him to get from the edge of the field and stacked them on the right shelf, he just hadn’t been able to make himself leave. Instead, he found a quiet little square foot between a box full of pennies and a broken goal marker and set up shop. An orange cone digs into his back and his ass is slowly starting to hurt from the cold tiles, but he just can’t make himself get up and walk out the door. He feels like the bush explorer from that book his dad read him and Josh when they were kids, where the courageous white guy with the safari hat hides in a hut in the middle of the jungle because alligators and snakes and poisonous spiders will eat him as soon as he steps out the door. And thinking about Josh and his dad just makes him even madder, so he grinds his teeth together and silently recites all the players on the national team to distract himself.

He has no idea how long it’s been when the door creak open and Justin pokes his head in. “Jensen?” he asks.

Jensen swipes the back of his hand over his eyes and looks away.

“Hey,” Justin says quietly. He edges closer, hands raised in a way that makes Jensen feel like a nervous horse, and sits down next to him. After what feels like an eternity of silence, he says, “Coach Morgan is going to chew everyone out in the morning.”

Jensen laughs before he can stop himself. “That’ll help,” he says.

“Sure it will,” Justin says. He doesn’t sound too convinced himself.

“I’m just…” Jensen stops the angry outburst before he starts being more honest than he can handle. He rests his forehead against his knees and sighs. “This sucks,” he finally says.

He can still feel Justin’s eyes on him. Finally, he just tilts his head to meet his gaze. “This really sucks,” he says.

Justin smiles sadly, like he knows exactly what Jensen is talking about, and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “It’ll get better, I promise,” he says quietly. “They’ll grow up eventually.”

Jensen isn’t so sure, but Justin is there and warm and not telling him that he’s a faggot, so if half-hearted reassurances and an arm draped over his shoulders is all he can get, he’ll take it.

He starts when his cell phone vibrates in his pocket. He almost can’t make himself dig it out and flip it open, but Justin shifts with him without letting go and the comfort Jensen soaks up from that is somehow makes it possible for him to press _Open_.

 

From: Jared (Cell)  
To: Jensen  
Sent: 07/18/2011 6:27 pm

where r u? just heard. theyre dumbasses.

Jensen smiles in spite of himself. He tilts the screen for Justin to read when the man leans over curiously.

Justin grins. “See?” he says. “It’s not all bad.”

Jensen takes a moment to text back, _im fine. ill find u later_ before he stows his phone in his pocket and turns back to Justin. “They’re blaming me for losing,” he says.

Justin blinks. “That’s ridiculous,” he says.

Jensen shrugs. “I passed to Jared,” he says. “They’ve always hated me. Now they have an excuse.”

“You’re a good third of the reason we even made it as far as we did,” Justin says.

Jensen blinks. He blinks again. “Really?” he asks, in a tiny voice.

“Um.” Justin reaches up to scratch the back of his head. “I wasn’t really supposed to tell you that, but… Jensen, you’re easily the best midfielder Austin High has   
ever had. You’re an amazing player. You shouldn’t have to deal with this bullshit.”

Jensen doesn’t really know what to say to that so he blinks a couple of times, ignoring the way his eyes sting all of a sudden.

“What’s wrong with your knee?” Justin asks suddenly.

Jensen blinks. He hadn’t even noticed that his hands are cradled around it, as if that could somehow make it hurt less. Slowly, he uncramps his fingers. “Nothing,” he says.

“Nothing,” Justin echoes.

“It hurts, is all,” Jensen corrects himself. Which is true. He could bitch to Justin about what happened, of course, but what good is that gonna do? It’s not gonna make the guys change their minds about him – not for the better, at least – and the damage is already done. He just hopes to hell it’s not permanent.

“Does it still hurt?”

Jensen shrugs.

“How about I take a look at it?” Justin offers. “Just to make sure it’s not anything serious?”

After a moment, Jensen nods. He stretches out his leg, lets Justin push up his jeans and slide warm fingers underneath his knee. He twists and turns it, watching Jensen’s face closely, but the only thing that hurts is when he presses down on top of it.

“I’d say it’s just the mother of all bruises,” Justin finally says. He smiles and ruffles Jensen’s hair. “You got lucky there, kid.”

“Lucky,” Jensen says, but he is pretty damn glad. It’s one thing for his teammates to be assholes. It’s quite another to lose his career over it. He smiles, and it’s only partly forced. “Thanks, Justin,” he says. “I think I’m gonna go chill out for a bit.”

“No worries,” Justin says. He doesn’t rise when Jensen does, just sits there and peers up at him. “You take care now, Jensen, you hear?”

“Got it, coach,” Jensen says snappily.

When Jensen slips into his room, he expects Jared to be overly affectionate. It’s how he deals with stress. He’s not quite prepared for Jared to bodily pick him up and squeeze the living daylights out of him. “I’m gonna kick all of their asses,” he promises into Jensen’s neck. “Just you watch me.”

Jensen can’t help chuckling, despite everything. “I’m not sure Morgan’s gonna appreciate that one.”

“If Morgan can’t get them to knock it off, he can go fuck himself.” He says it so blandly, so matter-of-fact, that Jensen’s brain doesn’t even catch up right away.

“He’s gonna appreciate that even less, I think,” he says after a moment.

“Probably not,” Jared says.

They’re quiet for a moment. When Jensen can’t take it anymore, he lifts his fingers to his mouth, chews on the nail, and Jared sighs.

“Come on, Jensen,” he says. “It’s not that bad.”

Jensen blinks at him. “Excuse me?”

There has to be something in his tone, because Jared immediately winces. “Nothing,” he says.

“No.” Jensen shakes his head. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, ‘not that bad’? How could it possibly get any worse?”

“Let’s not get overdramatic,” Jared says, frowning.

Jensen smacks his shoulder. “I don’t know if you were there, but apparently being gay is a pretty big deal hereabouts. How do you think everybody else is going to react?” He draws in a sharp breath. “What’s my mom going to say when she finds out her beloved baby boy is a cocksucker?”

“Jensen,” Jared chides.

“What?” Jensen snaps back. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Jared asks. “Cause unless you’ve been secretly blowing the rest of the team behind my back, I don’t think so.”

Jensen flushes, half shamed at the fact that Jared just had to bring up how inexperienced he is, and half angry at Jared making the issue about freaking logistics. He struggles off the bed and reaches for the doorknob, but Jared wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him back between his legs. “Jensen, don’t,” he says. “I’m sorry, okay. I didn’t mean to make it sound like it’s not important.”

Jensen is still pretty mad and he’s not sure that he’s going to forgive Jared that easily, but he stops struggling long enough that Jared can rope him in and hug him tightly against his chest. “Look,” he says. “Your momma loves you. Okay. Even if she’s shocked or confused or disapproves, you’re still going to be her Jensen. You’re the frickin apple of her eye. She’s not going to stop loving you just because you like dick.”

“You don’t know that,” Jensen mutters.

Jared shakes his head. “I do. I know you, and I know your mom. You guys are gonna be fine.”

Jensen sighs, lets his head drop onto Jared’s shoulder. “You really think so?” he whispers.

“I know so,” Jared replies. His hand comes up to slide into Jensen’s hair.

Jensen sighs. “So you don’t think I’m some sort of worrywart freak, right?”

Jared winces. “I’m sorry,” he says again, eyes wide and sincere. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.” Jensen kisses Jared’s cheek. “It’s just… sometimes it makes me wonder if all this drama is really worth it.”

“I thought you liked it.” Jared ducks his head, and it takes Jensen a minute to understand that the expression on his face is pure, unadulterated hurt.

“I do like it.” He shakes his head. “I really like it. But come on, Jared. Is a bit of hooking up really worth all of this?”

For a long, long, moment, Jared just gapes at him. Then his face grows cloudy and dark. “I guess not,” he says, and before Jensen can do more than blink helplessly, he’s stormed out the door and slammed it shut behind him.

Jensen’s brain has been stuck on _You idiot_ for over half an hour, even though he even started watching old videos to distract himself. Jared still hasn’t come back but Jensen hasn’t had a whole lot of luck finding him when he doesn’t want to be found, so Jensen waits. That doesn’t stop him from pouncing on his phone when it beeps.

 

From: Blocked Number  
To: Jensen  
Sent: 7/18/2011 7:18 pm

_Fag_

With an yell of frustration, Jensen drops his phone and smashes his camera against the wall. The pieces haven’t even hit the floor when Jensen already regrets it. He slumps heavily down on his bed and bites back tears of frustration. God, he’s such a dumbass. What kind of idiot destroys several hundred dollars worth of camcorder just because he’s getting teased about being in love with his male best friend? What kind of idiot falls in love with his male best friend in the first place, for that matter?

Well, whatever.

There’s always that other best friend that he can fall back on, even if Jensen is a truly shitty friend sometimes, and it doesn’t take much deliberation before he’s knocking on Chris and Steve’s door.

“It’s open,” Chris says.

Jensen slowly turns the knob and eases the door open, peering inside. Only Chris is there, on his back on Steve’s bed, smoke curling from his nostrils.

“Hi,” he says.

Chris just sort of nods in his direction, doesn’t even look at him.

“Steve at the doctor’s again?” Jensen asks. He fidgets in the doorway.

Chris sort of half-shrugs. He keeps on smoking, and Jensen keeps on waiting for him to say something. Chris always has something to say. No matter what happens, he can count on Chris being there for him.

“Boys, huh?” Chris says finally. He blows a smoke ring at the ceiling. His face is scrunched up in concentration, like even staring at the dirty, water-stained ceiling is better than meeting Jensen’s eyes.

Jensen gets to his feet and leaves, quietly and without a fuss, even though his eyes are burning and his chest is tight.

Chris doesn’t tell him to stay.


	6. Chapter 6

Jensen is not crying. He wants to, God how he wants to, but at this point it feels like his even his tear ducts have crawled into his body to curl up and die. Lying on his bed with the blinds drawn to keep out the cheery sunlight and the laughter from the basketball courts below, he can almost admit to himself that he wants nothing more than for Jared to come and make it all better, but he can’t make himself actually go find him. Because that would mean apologizing, and talking about his feelings, and what if Jared has had enough of Jensen’s mood swings and doesn’t actually want to hear it?

Jensen sighs and buries his head in his thin pillow. Underneath it, he can feel his phone vibrate, and it’s sort of telling that that alone makes him want to scream.   
He manages to pretend he hasn’t heard it until it vibrates again. And again. Frowning, Jensen digs around under the pillow and looks at the display.

 _Josh is calling,_ the little screen reads.

Furrowing his brows, he flips the phone open and presses it against his ear. “’Lo?” he mutters.

“Hey, little brother,” a cheery voice greets him. “Whatcha up to?”

Jensen muffles a sigh. “Nothing,” he says.

“Relaxing before the big game, eh?” Josh says. He laughs. “That’s the way to do it.”

“Big game?” Jensen repeats.

“The finale, right?” Josh says. “Mom said you’re going for third place tomorrow. You are, right?”

They are, right, but Jensen didn’t think Josh would remember. “Yeah,” he says. “Third place.”

“Heard what happened at the semis,” Josh chats away. “That blows, man. But I bet you’re going to kick extra ass tomorrow.”

Jensen looks down at the purpling bruise on his knee. “Yeah,” he says. “You know me.”

Some of his bitterness must have slipped through because for a moment, Josh doesn’t say anything. “You okay?” he finally asks. “You sound a bit off.”

“I’m fine,” Jensen says.

“Right,” Josh says.

“I’m fine,” Jensen repeats. “Just a bit tense, is all.”

“Oh.” Josh laughs. “Don’t worry, pretty boy. You’ll do fine. And Mac and Dad send their love.”

Jensen snorts. Yeah, he can tell how much love they’re sending.

“What?” Josh asks. “What’s funny, man?”

“I bet the man sends his love,” Jensen says snidely. “Was he too busy to call himself?”

“No, he thought you’d be occupied with pregame stuff,” Josh says. Jensen can practically see him scrunching up his forehead. “What’s with the attitude, man?”

Jensen pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to ignore the way his eyes sting. “Josh, you don’t have to pretend for me. I’m not a total idiot, you know.”

“What?” Josh sounds genuinely bewildered. “Jen, what are you talking about?”

“Dad,” Jensen says. “He doesn’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. Just don’t make it out like he actually cares.”

The silence that follows his words is so long and absolute that he checks the phone to see if the connection cut out. It hasn’t. “Josh?” he finally asks.

“I think you and Dad need to have a talk,” his brother answers, his voice quivering with… something.

“No, don’t.” Jensen can hear the pleading tone in his voice. “Not right now, okay? Mac said you have a new girlfriend. Tell me about her.”

Even without seeing him, Jensen can tell that Josh is shaking his head. “No, you need to hash this out with Dad.”

“Josh, don’t,“ Jensen protests. He hunches his shoulders and scowls at the phone. The last thing he needs right now is an awkward heart-to-heart with his dad.

“Stay on the phone, Jen,” Josh says, absolutely pitiless. The tone of his voice leaves no doubt that that’s an order.

Jensen waits, stomach ice-cold and red-hot at the same time. It seems like an eternity before he can hear someone pick up the receiver.

“Jensen?” His dad still sounds exactly like the last time they talked – he doesn’t remember how long ago – and Jensen swallows.

“Dad,” he says stiffly, trying not to yell or cry or laugh hysterically, or anything else that might get him carted off to the nearest loony bin.

There is a pause, awkward and heavy. Jensen imagines both of them trying to determine how rude it would be to just hang up, and has to bite his lip to keep from smiling.

“How are you doing?” his dad finally asks.

“Okay.”

“Well, that’s… good.” Another pause. His dad clears his throat. “Josh said you had to talk to me about something?”

Jensen swallows back his anger. Of course Josh would get him into a situation like this and then abandon him in it. “You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to,” he says.

“Of course I want to,” his father says, sounding startled.

“Yeah, right.” Jensen really doesn’t mean to sound so bitter but all this playing nice, let’s-pretend-nothing-was-ever-wrong bullshit it starting to get to him. “Don’t give me that.”

His father’s confusion sounds almost genuine when he says, “Jen, kiddo, I’m really sorry we haven’t had the chance to talk in a while, but you’re-“

“Gay.”

Silence follows his announcement. Jensen almost giggles. His dad is going to kill him. He will find a way to kill him. Over the phone if he has to.

“I’m sorry?” his father finally says.

“I’m not.” Jensen sets his jaw. “I said it. I’m gay.”

“Are you sure?” is the next question.

Jensen rolls his eyes. “I’m sure I’m sure.” He can hear the sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line.

“Since when?” his father asks.

“Dad, please,” Jensen says. “I’ve had about the most terrible week of my life, so if you’re about to disown me or tell me I’m not your son anymore or whatever it is you do in these situations, can we just skip straight to that part?”

From the sharp intake of breath, Jensen can tell he’s pissed his dad off, but he’s not entirely sure how. “Jesus, Jensen,” he says. “You caught me off-guard, yes, but just because you like boys doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

And that’s when Jensen starts bawling. No sniffles, no manly tears, just flat-out hysterical sobbing. “Jen, kiddo, sweetheart, tell me what’s wrong,” his dad pleads into the receiver, but it takes a solid couple of minutes before Jensen can even catch his breath.

Through sniffs and snot, Jensen manages to get the whole story out. He’s almost breathing normally by the time he’s done and can fully appreciate the tense silence that follows his account.

“Have you told anyone about this?” his dad finally asks.

“What, about being a fag?” Jensen snickers. “I don’t think there’s anybody left to be told.”

“Don’t talk like that,” his father chides absently. “No, I mean about the abuse.”

“What abuse?”

“The bullying, Jensen. What do you think that is?”

“They’re just being stupid,” Jensen says. He sniffs. “They don’t really mean it.”

“Well, I mean it when I say I’m going to have some words with that coach of yours,” his father fumes.

“He’s doing everything he can,” Jensen says. “Really. Don’t take it out on him.”

“If you say so.” His father still sounds doubtful. “Listen, you know you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, right? All you have to do is say the word and I will come get you, right now.”

“That’s six hours of driving,” Jensen says.

“You think that matters to me?” his father asks.

Jensen has to swallow quickly before he starts crying again. “I’m okay,” he whispers. He clears his throat. “I’m okay, really.”

“Are you sure?” his dad presses. “Because I will come and get you. And kick some ass.”

Jensen chuckles. He digs around in the drawer of his bedside table until he comes up with a box of Kleenex. “I think all that’ll do is damage my street cred even more.”

“How about your brother?” his father offers. “I’m sure he would just love to show them who’s boss.” He chuckles. “Hell, Mac will kick their asses if you let her.”

Jensen laughs shakily. “That’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s only one more day.” He wipes his eyes and blows his nose, dropping the used tissue off the side of the bed.

“I’d still like to see you, though,” his dad says. He sounds a bit hedged, like he isn’t sure Jensen actually wants to and doesn’t want to force him if he doesn’t.   
“Maybe we could meet up once you’re back?”

The lump in Jensen’s throat suddenly has nothing to do with his teammates anymore. “Just the two of us, you mean?” he asks.

“Yes,” his dad says firmly. “Just us. Although Mac and Josh will want to see you too, at some point.”

Jensen smiles a little. “I think I can live with that.” He takes a deep breath and wipes over his eyes. “I should go to dinner,” he says.

“Alright,” his dad replies, still sounding not at all happy. “You let me know if something happens, though, okay?”

“Okay,” Jensen says. He won’t, but this whole bullshit is almost over anyway, so it’s not like it matters.

“That’s my boy,” his father says, warmly enough to almost make Jensen choke up again. “You can do this, kiddo, you hear me? You managed to boss around your momma and me for years, you can handle a few close-minded idiots.”

Jensen smiles into his pillow. “Thanks, dad,” he whispers.

“I love you,” his dad says, a little rushed, and Jensen whispers his own in return before he thumbs the phone off. He lies in bed for a moment, stunned. He debates sending Josh a quick ‘thank you’ text, but decides against it. The guy gives him enough grief as it is. And Josh already knows how much family means to Jensen.

Suddenly determined, he levers himself upright. He’s done moping. Whiny, needy Jensen is a thing of the past. He’s seventeen, after all, he’s practically a grown man, and he can’t keep on fucking up the only good things in his life just because a bunch of people are bigoted idiots. And to celebrate his new life, he opens the drawer of his bedside table and throws his phone inside before he pushes it shut with determination.

And then opens it again so he can put his phone on silent.

He pulls his shoes over his feet and opens the door. The corridors are silent. Usually there should be people around, talking and laughing, but there’s nothing. Not here, not in the entry hall, not on the field.

Not even at the basketball courts, where Jensen heads as a last resort. He doesn’t really need to include the terrible trio in his new life, but he needn’t have worried. There’s nobody on the field, just PJ’s worn-out basketball lying on a patch of grass. Jensen picks it up and holds it in his hands for a moment before he bounces it, once, twice, three times. He’s not really any good at basketball. He’s not really tall enough to at this point, though he might be in the future, but for some reason hand-eye coordination is much harder for him than the foot-eye kind.

He has no idea where anybody is. Maybe they all went out to the bar again – at five something in the afternoon – but Jensen doesn’t care. He can do without going back there. All he cares about at this point is how to straighten out the complete mess he’s made of his life. And what’s the point of a new and improved Jensen if no one is here to witness it?

“And I thought last summer was shitty,” Jensen mumbles to himself. He jumps and throws the ball with all his strength. It hits the rim and goes flying off the field, right into Jared’s hands.

Jensen looks down at his feet. He can hear Jared come closer and closer. Finally he can see Jared’s running shoes in his field of vision and swallows, but instead of punching him in the face, Jared jumps –Jensen can see his shoes leave the pavement – and sinks the ball clean into the net.

Neither of them move as the ball bounces away into the grass.

“Can you at least look at me?” Jared asks.

Jensen does, after a moment, and is rewarded with a tiny smile that he doesn’t return.

“Thanks,” Jared says.

They stand there for a moment, stiff and awkward, before Jared sighs. “Look, Jensen,” he says, “I really, really like you. _Like_ you like you. More than I’ve ever liked anyone. More than Sandy, more than anybody. Okay? And I really don’t want to lose that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jensen says. He launches the ball at the hoop and misses by about a mile. “Whether you like me or not. There’s still the fact that the guys are going to slaughter us for this.”

“It matters to me,” Jared says. When Jensen looks up, surprised, Jared is staring at the dorm building, not meeting his eyes. “I like you, Jensen. I like kissing you, and I like hanging out with you, and when we…” He waves his hand vaguely in the direction of his crotch and blushes. “I don’t like fighting with you, and I feel like that’s pretty much all we’ve been doing since we started this thing. So if you don’t want us to do… this, then I’m gonna accept that, but let me just tell you.” He gives Jensen a wet-eyed look, nevertheless managing a tiny smile. “It’s gonna suck ass.”

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Jensen says slowly.

“Okay,” Jared says.

“And I don’t…” Jensen swallows. “I’m not.” He gestures helplessly, but Jared either doesn’t get what he’s trying to say or doesn’t want to get it, so he drops his hand back at his side. “I kinda think you’re pretty great.”

“You do?” Jared asks, a soft smile tilting the corners of his mouth.

With reddening cheeks, Jensen looks away. “Now you’re just fishing,” he says.

“Can you blame me?” Jared’s all-out grinning now. “You’re so stingy with your compliments, I thought I might have to torture you into admitting you think I’m hot.”

“I never said I thought you were hot,” Jensen says, and can just barely resist sticking his tongue out at the look Jared gives him in return.

“You douchebag,” Jared says, half disbelieving, half laughing. He shuffles forward like he might try to kiss Jensen. Maybe something in Jensen’s face puts him off, though, because he aborts the movement as quickly as he started it. “I can’t believe I put up with you.”

Jensen smiles. “Well, apparently you _like me_ like me, so I guess you’re stuck with me.” He means it to sound teasing, but it only comes out as hopeful, and maybe a bit desperate.

“I guess I am,” Jared says, so quietly Jensen thinks he maybe wasn’t supposed to hear, as he bends over and snatches the ball out of the grass. He tosses it to Jensen so neatly all Jensen has to do it lift his hands. “Give it another shot,” he says. “It’s not like your statistics could get any more depressing.”

Jensen sticks his tongue out at him. And then, even as Jared’s turning away, he sends the ball flying into the net, smooth and clean.

Jared turns back around, disbelieving, and Jensen grins.

It’s the first swoosh he’s managed for as long as he can remember, and that sort of totally feels like a sign.

They’re still tentative after that. Jensen is part of that, of course, he can’t just turn off his personality, but Jared is a bit subdued too. He’s walking on egg shells, it seems like, terrified that Jensen will pull another 180 and walk out on him. Again.

Jensen hates that he’s responsible for that, that Jared is so careful and kid gloves just because of him, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. All he can do is try to be more open. Take Jared’s hands when they’re walking to their room, alone, or give him an encouraging smile when Morgan’s glare grows to be too heavy for Jared to bear. It’s not much, but every tiny little smile Jared gives him just makes it that much more worth it.

It still takes him over two days to finally look at his phone again. He has eight missed calls from his mother, as well as a couple of texts from Mac and Josh that he ignores.

Jared’s lying in bed, blearily focusing on the pages of his comic book. He’s squinting so hard Jensen almost considers loaning him his glasses, but he knows as well as Jared does that the guy has 20/15 vision. Or would have, if he weren’t so damn tired all the time. So instead of handing over his things, he quickly kisses the top of Jared’s head, hoping that the brilliant smile he gets in return is enough to get him through the next conversation.

The steps outside the main doors are marble-covered and cool, and Jensen sits down and dials before he can think twice about it.

His mother picks up after a ring and a half. “Jensen!” she says. “Finally. I was beginning to think something had happened to you. Are you alright? Did that coach-“

“Momma,” he interrupts. He draws a deep breath. “I have to tell you something.”

“What’s wrong?” she asks. “Is it that team of yours?”

“Maybe?” Jensen says. He sighs. “Sort of, I guess.”

“Is this about Jared?” she asks, and for one horrifying moment Jensen thinks she knows, but then he remembers what he’d told her, back when this whole mess had started.

“Kind of,” he says. “But it’s mostly about me.”

“Alright,” she says slowly.

“I’m gay,” Jensen says, clearly but quickly, before he can change his mind.

“You’re gay,” his mother repeats.

“Yeah,” Jensen says. He can feel his heart pound in his throat.

“Is this because of Jared?” she asks.

“Yes. No.” Jensen runs his hand through his hair. “I mean, I kinda thought so before that, but I’m sure now.”

She’s quiet for so long that he starts to fidget.

“Are we okay?” he asks quietly. “You’re not like, mad or anything, are you?”

“Oh honey, of course not,” she says, and for a moment she sounds just like she always does. “I just need a bit of time, okay? To get used to the idea.”

“Of course,” Jensen says. It’s not exactly what he wanted to hear, but it’s close enough, so he’ll take it.

“And are you… seeing Jared?” she asks.

“I… yes.” He sounds like he means it, and that makes him proud. “He’s my boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend,” she says. “And your team knows?”

“Yeah,” Jensen says. He kinda wishes they didn’t, but they do. And it is nice to not have to worry about every little movement or word. Even if it would be a lot nicer to not get his ass kicked for it every day. “Coach, too.”

“Alright,” his mother says slowly. “And they’re all okay with it.”

“Define okay.” Jensen laughs. “Coach is great. The rest will just have to get used to it.”

“Uh-huh,” she says. She pauses. “Maybe it would be better if you didn’t see Jared for a while.”

He’s a bit disappointed at that response, yeah, but he knows she doesn’t mean it in a bad way. She just wants what’s best for him. But he’s over lying and sneaking around. “No, momma,” he says. “I’m not gonna ditch Jared. He’s been absolutely amazing and supportive and wonderful even though I’m a total head case and he has his own problems to deal with. I’m not gonna repay him for that by dropping him just because you said so.”

“Alright,” she says after a moment. Jensen can hear her breathing, quiet and even. He leans back and imagines sitting across from her at the kitchen table. She’s be fiddling with the lose splinters in the worn wood, like she does every time when she needs to say something but doesn’t know how. She did that when she and his father announced that they were separating. It doesn’t feel as painful now as it did then.

“I wish you would have told me,” she says eventually.

“So you could do what?” Jensen asks her. “Worried your head off without being able to do anything?”

“So I could have supported you,” she says, and he can hear in her voice that he hurt her. “So you didn’t have to go through that alone.”

“Thanks, momma,” Jensen says, quietly. “I just didn’t want to be a burden.”

“Oh, baby,” she sighs. “I’m sorry, darling. Alright? So incredibly sorry.”

“Why?” Jensen asks her, genuinely confused.

“Because you listen to everything in my life with nothing but love and support, but when you have a real problem, you don’t want to bother me with it.” She sighs. “You’re not supposed to be the adult in this relationship, honey, alright?”

“It’s fine, momma,” he says, but she won’t let him finish.

“It’s not fine, Jensen. It shouldn’t be like this, and it’s not going to. There are going to be some changes around here when you’re back.”

“Okay, momma,” Jensen says quietly. It doesn’t even matter to him if she’s going to stick with that resolution or not. The important thing is that she’s trying to fix things, to make him happy. That’s the only thing that matters.

After that, there’s really only one more person to talk to. He hovers in front of the door for a moment, shuffling back and forth before he knocks, fast and loud.

“Come in.”

It’s Chris. Jensen’s heart starts pounding like mad for a moment before it settles back in his chest. It’s Chris. His best friend in the entire world, now that Jared has moved on to being so much more. He should not be nervous about going in to see him.

It still takes him a moment to push open the door. Chris lies sprawled out on Steve’s bed, fiddling with his lighter. It’s red, with a giant soccer ball on it, and if Jensen smoked, he’d have one just like it. There are packs of papers and tobacco all over the two bedside tables, and the whole room smells like someone tried to send smoke signals. Chris’ bed is neatly made and empty, and the bathroom door is wide open. Jensen inches into the room and perches on the free bed.

Chris doesn’t even look at him.

“No Steve?” Jensen asks.

“At the doc’s,” Chris says. “Getting cleared for light activity.”

“That’s good, I guess,” Jensen says. “Means he can watch the game, right?”

Chris shrugs and flicks his battered pack open again. “I s’pose,” he says. “Doc’s gonna say.”

Jensen nods and drops his head. He sucks at small talk. Always has.

He pulls his feet up onto the bed and wraps his arms around his knees. “Look,” he says. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to. But it just is the way it is. I love Jared-“ _he loves Jared_ “and I’m not gonna give up on him, so if we’re going to be friends, you’re just going to have to get used to the idea.”

“What gets me-“ Chris starts, but Jensen shakes his head.

“It’s not a choice, Chris. You know that. You might not like it, but you know that as well as I.”

Chris shakes his head, slowly, and Jensen falls silent. He lets his cheek rest on his knee, taking in the mess in the room. He’s not gonna walk away this time. He’s going to sit here and wait until Chris finally talks to him, no matter how long it takes.

He sees Chris pull a paper from his pack and start heaping tobacco on it from the corner of his eye.

“What really gets me,” Chris begins again, “is that you thought you couldn’t trust me with something like that.”

Jensen jerks his head around so fast he almost gives himself whiplash.

Chris keeps folding his cigarette with that intense concentration that Jensen mistook for discomfort but, as he realizes now, is really a sign of anger. “Jensen, you’ve been one of my best friends for forever. And when you go and keep me out of the loop with something this important…” He sticks the cigarette into his mouth, lights it, drops the lighter on the bed and exhales a stream of smoke. “That just pisses me off.”

“I’m sorry,” Jensen says. No wonder Chris is pissed at him. He certainly deserves it. “I just… It was all so confusing.”

“I get that,” Chris says. “And considering how the others reacted, it’s not like you weren’t justified in wanting to keep it to yourself.” He pokes his finger into   
Jensen’s shoulder, hard enough that it actually hurts. “But dude, I can’t help you in your time of crisis if you won’t even tell me you’re _having_ a crisis. Capiche?”

Jensen nods.

“Good.” Chris takes a satisfied self-satisfied drag of his cigarette. “Now, the important stuff.”

“Yeah?” Jensen asks, half-curious and half-unsure.

Chris meets his eyes and asks, completely deadpan, “You’re gonna be my wingman now, right? ‘Cause Steve always wants the hot girls to himself, and I figure you’re obviously not going to care…”

Jensen can’t help his startled laughter. He’s missed this, missed being around Chris, the way nothing is ever serious for long when his friend is in the room.

Chris joins in after a moment. He offers his cigarette to Jensen who thinks, _What the hell_ , takes it from his outstretched fingers and hacks up a lung after his first draft.

It’s already dark when Jensen finally starts heading back to his room, and they missed dinner, but Jensen wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s a spring in his step and he’s half-humming to himself, but when he gets to Morgan’s office he stops dead in his tracks. The door is half-open. He can see Morgan standing behind his desk, coffee mug clutched in his hand, staring outside. In all honestly, he looks like he’s debating flinging himself out the window.

Jensen takes a tentative step forward. “Coach?” he asks. “Everything okay?”

“Jensen.” Morgan doesn’t turn around. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Jensen takes another step forward, across the threshold and into the room. “Yeah, but I’m just sneaking around after curfew. You’re the one who’s brooding.”  
He’s not sure, but he thinks he sees Morgan crack a smile at that. Taking it as a good sign, he shuffles all the way to the window. If Morgan’s going to smell the smoke on him, he’ll smell it one foot or five feet away, so Jensen might as well take the risk. He takes a peek outside, too, but all he can see are trees and a few bushes below. Nothing that would warrant the intent stare on Morgan’s face.

He shifts from one foot to the other. “Seriously, coach. What’s wrong?”

“Tomorrow,” the man says slowly.

Jensen waits, but when nothing else comes, he presses, “What about tomorrow?” 

“It’s not going to be pretty,” Coach says. He gazes into his cup of coffee like it holds all the secrets to the universe. “I can’t remember the last time a team of mine was less of a _team_ than this one is.”

“I’m sure I can-“ Jensen starts, but Morgan shakes his head.

“Not everything is your fault, Jensen,” he says. One corner of his mouth quirks upwards. “Stop being greedy.”

“Sorry,” Jensen says. He bites his lip when Morgan frowns at him.

“The SCSSCs are supposed to be fun, you know?” he says. “That’s what they’re for. So everybody can have a good time and play soccer just for the sake of playing soccer for once. Without the pressure of the actual season driving everybody crazy.”

Jensen snorts, and the coach winks at him.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Jensen puts his hand on the window sill, looks down for a moment. “Look, coach,” he says slowly. “I get that worrying is your job. Yeah? You’re responsible for all of us, and we’re a mess, so you’re stressed out.” He risks a glance up, sees Morgan watching him with a small frown on his face. “It’s just that the worrying part is over now. It’s the last match. There’s no more training, we’ve discussed every single possible scenario to death. And now it’s on us. We’re the ones that are going to decide how tomorrow goes. You’ve done all you could do for us, and now it’s time for us to fly, or whatever sappy metaphor there is.”

He shrugs. “So, you know.” He gestures towards Morgan’s mug. “You might wanna switch that out for some chamomile tea or something.”

Morgan doesn’t respond.

After what seems like forever, Jensen dares raise his gaze only to find Morgan scowling at him, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Jensen,” he says, earnestly. “Thank you for the speech, but you might want to consider getting out of here before I stop being amused and start being offended.”

“Aye, aye, coach,” Jensen says, practically falling over himself to get out the door, but he could swear he hears Morgan laughing as he goes.

Jared is still awake when he opens the door, head tilted back so he can watch the moon through the slits in the blinds. “Hey,” he says without looking over. He doesn’t sound mad or anything, but he’s not all hearts and smiles either.

Jensen bundles up all of his courage and lifts the covers. Jared frowns but moves over, wrapping one arm around Jensen with an ease that seems almost automatic.

“Hey,” Jensen whispers.

Jared tilts his head at him. “What’s going on?” he asks.

“Coach said some stuff,” Jensen admits. He doesn’t really want to have this conversation right now, or talk at all, for that matter, but it doesn’t look like Jared will let him off the hook that easily.

“What’d he say?” he asks.

Jensen winces. “That I’m an idiot,” he says. “But then you already knew that.”

Jared’s expression softens. He leans in to press his nose in the grove behind Jensen’s ear. “What else is new,” he mutters.

Jensen winces, but it’s not like he didn’t deserve that. He reaches up and lays two fingers on the side of Jared’s face. “I’m done hiding,” he says. “I know Hayden and Strait and Chase are your friends, but if they can’t accept us, they can just go suck it. Okay? I’m tired of being ashamed.”

Jared smiles ruefully. “Don’t be ashamed,” he says. “They’re not my friends if they make you feel like you’re doing something wrong.”

“That’s sweet,” Jensen says. He shakes his head when Jared opens his mouth. “It’s incredibly sweet, and I know you think you mean that, but they’re your best friends. Alright? I don’t want you to have to choose between me or them. We’re just gonna have to start getting along.”

He frowns when Jared grins. “What?” he asks.

“Careful there, Jensen,” Jared says. “You might start growing a backbone.”

“Very funny,” Jensen comments, pushing at Jared’s shoulder, but Jared just catches his wrist and draws him in close.

“Sleep, Jensen,” he says. “We need you in top shape in the morning.”

“But I-“ Jensen begins, stomach fluttering at the mere mention of tomorrow, but Jared shakes his head.

“Sleep, Jen,” he repeats. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jensen wakes up with a pit in his stomach. It’s not as bad as it could be, he supposes – it’s not like they’re playing for gold, and at this point they’ve probably already ruined their reputation beyond all salvaging – but it makes him anxious and antsy. He drums his fingers against the bathroom counter while he brushes his teeth, jiggles his leg while he puts his contacts in, fiddles with his shirt. Jared takes an eternity in the bathroom even though he doesn’t even have to do anything today, and Jensen can’t mess with his hair until he gets his comb that he left by the sink, so when Jared finally opens the door, he just about bolts for the bathroom.

Jared catches him around the waist when Jensen tries to duck past him and pulls him back. “Hey,” he says. “What’s going on?”

“Just nervous,” Jensen says, fidgeting. He tries to twist free, but Jared holds tight.

“We’re still okay though, right?” he asks. He sounds so unsure, so miserable, that Jensen can’t resist pulling him down for a kiss, never mind that it’s the middle of the day and anyone could walk in at any time. It’s not like anybody doesn’t know yet, anyway.

“We’re okay,” he says when they pull apart. He cracks a smile at Jared’s glazed expression. “We’re just fine, trust me.”

“Good,” Jared murmurs. He lets go of Jensen only to press his fingers against his swollen lips. His breath hitches. “That’s good,” he says.

A knock at the door interrupts their moment, and just like that, Jensen’s nerves are back. He brings his thumb up to chew on his nail, something he never does. Jared, cool as a cucumber, takes his hand away from his mouth and threads their fingers together.

It’s Chris waiting outside. Who raises his eyebrows when he sees their hands, but all he says is, “You ready for this, Jen?”

Jensen waves his free hand in a ‘maybe, maybe not’ gesture, and Chris snorts. “I know how that feels.”

“How’s Steve?” Jensen asks him. He tries to peer over Chris’ shoulder but there’s nothing to see except two rumpled, empty beds.

“Climbing the walls,” Chris tells him. “Jared, you better find some way to entertain him during the game, or he’s gonna be limping onto the field on crutches.”

Jared nods, just once, and gives Jensen’s hand a little tug. “Come on,” he says quietly. “You gotta eat.”

Jensen doesn’t think he _can_ eat, the way his stomach flutters. But it’s not like Jared’s going to listen to him. So he lets him drag him down to the dining hall and load up a plate full of food that turns Jensen’s stomach, fruit and oatmeal and water. Light food, but it feels like led going down.

It probably doesn’t help that he’s at a table with Jared and Steve, both of them dressed in ‘civilian’ clothes and glowering at the world at large whenever they think Jensen and Chris aren’t looking. They need to win this. For Jared and for Steve, they need to win this.

Getting dressed in official gear is almost even more nerve wracking than forcing food down his throat. Jensen takes forever to pull on his shorts, shirt, and socks. He doesn’t even have Jared to take his mind of things – Morgan took pity on him and enlisted him in getting the water stand set up and ushering people to the right sections of the bleachers to keep him from going crazy.

Jensen’s about to stuff his bag into his locker when his phone bleeps. Usually it just rings and then it’s his mom, but he already talked to her for five minutes after breakfast, and he’s not sure she ever figured out how to send text messages in the first place.

He opens the message with a frown, and then a disbelieving grin.

 

From: Dad (Cell)  
To: Jensen  
Sent: 8/05/2011 10:14 am

Knock ‘em dead, Tiger. I believe in you.

Jensen lets out a rush of air and buries the phone in his bag. He can do this. He can totally do this.

He looks around, hoping for a good luck kiss from Jared, but he’s over by the stands, talking to some short dude in a pin-striped suit Jensen has never seen before. He’d remember the bald head, that wispy mustache. Probably a reporter. Nobody else would bother to show up to an informal high school soccer game at the end of July in anything more formal – and hotter – than a polo shirt. Jensen tries to muster up his courage and go over, but his nerves are frazzled enough as it is, and just because he was the one who climbed into Jared’s bed yesterday doesn’t mean he suddenly has the courage to go over and make out with him in front of a complete stranger.

He heads off to the locker room instead, and when Jared wanders in a few moments later, there’s a smile on his face but he won’t say why.

The match is a chore. They’re struggling just to hold their own, they’re disorganized and frustrated with each other. Strait keeps encroaching on Jensen’s territory, leaving their left side wide open, and it’s not even twenty minutes in when the other team’s midfielder gets the better of Mike and they’re behind.

Jensen groans along with the rest of his team. This is going to be a disaster, he can already tell. And what on Earth is Strait doing? He just keeps inching closer and closer to the center even though the Mountain Lions _just_ scored by outside plays.

Shaking his head, Jensen looks over to see Jared pacing the sidelines in sweatpants and a t-shirt, looking for all the world like he might sprint out to the playing field any second. The only reason Steve doesn’t have the same effect is because he’s sitting on the bench with Morgan and Justin, but Jensen can see how tense he is just from the way his jaw clenches and the way his fingers are wrapped around the edge of the seat.

Jensen doesn’t think he’s ever been so glad to hear the half-time whistle. He can see the Mountain Lions grinning, slapping each other on the back in congratulations for a job well done. The Austin High team, on the other hand, is dragging their feet all the way to the locker room.

“What the fuck, you guys?” is the first thing out of Jared’s mouth. Morgan and Justin haven’t even made it to the locker room yet, and Jared is already tearing into them. “What’s going on with you? They’re not that great. We should be kicking their asses.”

Nobody answers him – everybody is too busy staring at their shoes.

“Seriously,” Jared says. “You guys are sucking today. You struggle and struggle, and they keep blowing through our defense like it’s nothing.”

Strait leans back and crosses his legs, challenge in his eyes. “Maybe it's because they don’t have a fag on their team.”

Jensen doesn’t know what makes that line so much worse than any of the other ones he’s heard over the last couple of days, but somehow it turns out to be the one he can’t take anymore. Heat pools in his belly. He gets up, takes the two steps over to Strait’s bench and, while everyone is still looking at him in amazement, lands a right hook in Strait’s jaw.

Strait falls off the bench. For a second, everything seems to slow down, and then Chris and Hayden and Jared all leap forward, Hayden to retaliate and Jared to stop him. Jensen lets Chris take his shoulders and pull him backwards, still vibrating with anger. “The reason we’re losing,” he calls over the hubbub, “is ‘cause you suck at playing, not ‘cause I suck dick!”

“Penn,” Chris says, wrapping his arms around Jensen’s.

Jensen can’t help the intense burst of pleasure he feels that it takes Chris _and_ Penn to hold him back, even though Chris’ half-swallowed grin takes some of the intensity out of the situation. He glances around to find almost everybody, including Strait with his hand pressed against his nose, staring at him, some with disbelieving, others with approving expressions. Mike discreetly gives him a thumbs up.

“Are you crazy?” Strait finally asks. He dabs at his nose, but it isn’t even bleeding, the whiner. He glares at Jensen and gets to his feet. Tom, Mike, and Khleo immediately step between them.

Hayden jerks his arms against Jared’s hold, apparently fuming. “What are you doing, man?” he wails.

“Keeping you from doing something stupid,” Jared replies laconically.

“He smacked Strait in the face,” Hayden protests.

Jared tightens his hold on his arms. “Yeah, well. Strait deserved it.”

Jensen is dimly aware of Penn’s hands on his shoulders, more congratulatory than restraining, really, and Chris whispering something along the lines of “Nice one, Jen,” into his ear.

Strait thumps Jared’s shoulder. “What the fuck, man?” he asks. “You’re my friend!”

Jared rolls his eyes at him. “Yeah, well, I’m also sort of into guys at the moment, so unless you can get over being a homophobic bigot, this friendship is over.”

Strait just gapes at him for a moment, then he shakes his head. “Oh, you’re just asking for an ass-kicking now, Jay.”

“What’s going on here, boys?”

For a moment, everything freezes. Then everybody starts talking at once, practically yelling at the two coaches standing in the doorway.

After a moment, Morgan sticks two fingers into his mouth and whistles. It’s almost as bad as his real one, and silence descends immediately. He points into the crowd.   
“Adam, what happened?” he asks.

Adam blinks and turns red when all attention immediately focuses on him. “So, uh, I guess Jensen kind of punched Strait in the jaw.”

“Jensen?” Justin repeats. He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.

Strait scowls. “Aren’t you going to do anything about it?” he asks.

Morgan shrugs, almost managing to pull off an apologetic expression. “Sorry, boys,” he says. “Didn’t see that.”

He raises an eyebrow at Justin who shrugs and says, “I was out getting coffee.”

The coach turns back to the room and frowns at them. “Now, I can’t punish anyone for brawling when I’m not there to see it, but the next person to take a swing at someone will be running alongside the bus tomorrow.”

Strait scowls, but while he might be biased, Jensen can’t bring himself to mind. It’s nice to have someone openly support him, for once.

Morgan shakes his head. “Strait, you okay?” he asks.

Strait nods grudgingly. He rubs at his jaw and glares at Jensen. “I’d be a lot more okay if someone got this fairy a well-deserved asskicking.”

A couple of people, Morgan and Justin included, open their mouths to protest, but it’s Jared who gets everyone’s attention. “Are we really still at this?” he asks. With two large steps, he’s at Jensen’s side, snags Jensen’s bicep and drags him upwards, to the front of the room. Jensen tries to wrench free. When that doesn’t work, he slumps his shoulders and stares at his shoes.

“Okay,” he says. “Guys. This is Jensen. The same Jensen you’ve known since you joined the team. And guess what? He’s always been gay. It’s not something that suddenly randomly happened.”

“Doesn’t make it any better,” Hayden says.

“And what the fuck are you afraid of?” Jared asks, rounding on him. “That you’ll catch the gay if you get too close? We aren’t in fucking third grade, guys. Listening to Jensen is not gonna give you cooties.”

Strait scoffs. “Oh please. Listen to him? Why should I care what the little fairy says?”

“Because I’m your fucking captain,” Jensen yells, surprising himself as much as everybody else. “And if you don’t start minding your own fucking business, you’re not gonna even be near a ball for the rest of the year.”

Strait’s not the only one who’s staring. Chris’ mouth is hanging open, and Hayden’s still scowling, but the smile on Jared’s face is wide and proud.

“So you’re blackmailing us now?”

For a moment, Jensen wonders if Jared is going to punch his Hayden’s face in, and from the way Morgan twitches, he’s probably thinking the same. But then, instead of flipping his lid, Jared just smiles.

“You’re a dumbass,” he says sweetly. “Jensen can win this for you. All you have to do is let him.”

Hayden scowls, wind taken out of his sails, but Jared is just getting started. “Dan, I know every other player out there is three times your size-“ a couple of people snicker at that – “but you’re our striker, okay? You need to grow some balls.”

“Okay,” Dan squeaks, and jumps when Chris slaps him on the back.

“Good,” Jared says. He smiles at Dan, an open and honest smile. “So go out and kill them.”

“Amen to that,” Morgan says. He motions to the door. “Get back on that field, guys. Go get them.”

Their exit from the locker room could not be more different from their entrance. They whoop and high-five each other, trampling out the door. It’s a nervous sort of energy, a ‘now or never’ vibe, and Jensen can’t help but smile. They can do this. They can totally pull it off.

As he trails out of the locker room, he sees the coach clap a heavy hand down on Jared’s shoulder.

“Nice speech, Padalecki,” he says, lips firmly pressed together to keep them from curving upwards. “Just, less swearing next time.”

This time, when the whistle blows, Jensen is ready for it. He dribbles the ball forward, passes to Khleo, and glances back over his shoulder. They’re taking it easy for now, cautious and slow, but he wants this now, wants to prove that he’s still one of the best players this team has ever had, and he can’t do that with Strait pulling the same shit as before. Strait needs to do his own damn job instead of wondering what Jensen’s up to, and there he is again, leaving the left side wide open.

“89,” Jensen calls. “Strait!”

Strait looks over at him, eyes widening at the harsh tone, but Jensen has had enough of that kid. “Get in position,” he snaps across the field. “You’re too far in and _way_ too far forward.”

Strait shuffles a few awkward steps further out.

Jensen shakes his head. “Out,” he calls. “For the last time, you’re not the central midfielder. That’s me. Get the hell out of my zone and protect your own.”

“Jensen!” Khleo calls, and passes to him before the advancing striker can try to get the ball from him.

Jensen accepts, feints past 52, ignores Dan waving his arms – there are two more guys right behind him, just waiting for a chance to get at the ball – and aims-shoots-scores, somehow fitting the ball into the strip of free net between the goalie’s fingers and the crossbar. He barely hears the whistle blow before a heavy body thumps down on his – Chris – and then another and another until he is at the bottom of an eleven-man pyramid. Tom thumps him on the shoulder and Zac pulls him upright and Morgan beams at him from the sidelines, and then the ref blows another sharp whistle and Jensen tries to force himself back into the game.

The other side gets more aggressive now that their lead is gone, but Austin High has tasted blood. The game goes back and forth in a flurry of passes, corners, out  
of-bounds until Jensen’s head spins and he glances away from the field to clear his head.

On the sidelines, Morgan lets his hand rest on top of Jared’s mess of hair. Jensen can’t hear what he says, but Jared looks up with a tiny smile on his face.

Good. They need to figure their shit out before they wind up killing each other.

Then the game is back in full swing, and there goes Chris, shooting forward, outrunning the other team’s player. And Dan is right there, accepts, sprints, and sinks the ball into the net.

For a moment, Dan looks absolutely stumped. Then Adam smacks his shoulder, laughing like an idiot, and a smile creeps onto Dan’s face, slowly, hesitantly. It blooms when someone else slaps his back, and when Khleo throws his arms around him, it’s a full-grown grin.

“Go Dan!” Jared cheers from the sidelines. Even Chris looks kind of impressed.

Still, it’s not over. While they’re still running on euphoria, the other team gets the ball and runs with it, dodges past a startled Penn and shoots, and Jensen already feels himself deflating.

But when the whistle blows, Mike has the ball firmly in his grip, no goal, they’re still in the lead, and if Jared were on the field right now, Jensen would kiss him   
in front of everyone.

And then it’s over. The whistle blows, the match is done, SCSSCs are over. There’s hugs and congratulations, Chris almost breaks his back and Steve hugs him as well as he can from where he’s sitting on the bench, and even Hayden forces a conciliatory grimace.

He even gets a hug from Morgan. That’ll be a story to tell the grandkids.

He can barely see the last of the Mountain Lions disappear into their locker room, except for 44, their captain. He hovers close-by, watching Jensen from the corner of his eyes, and when Jensen smiles at him, he comes wandering over.

“Good game,” he says.

“Agreed.” Jensen hold out his hand, and he gives it squeeze.

“Nice job, Ackles, I have to say.”

Jensen grins. “Right back at you, Franco,” he says. “You guys are good.”

Franco shrugs. “You were still the best player on the field,” he says, and then he flushes a bright, appealing red.

Jensen is tempted to tease him a little, but he recognizes the unease in his eyes and just smiles gently instead. “I’m glad you think so,” he says.

Franco looks away. “I’d say ‘rematch next year,’ but you’re graduating, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Jensen says. It still hasn’t really sunk in. This is it. SCSSCs are over for him.

“I’m sure you’ll be off playing pro somewhere,” Franco says. He glances at Jensen, then down at his feet. “We should keep in touch,” he mumbles. He looks around, realizes that they’re pretty much the only people left on the field, and gives Jensen a quick, manic grin. “I should go,” he says. “Don’t wanna miss the post-loss lecture.”

Jensen grins and nods, and Franco jogs off towards his locker room.

“See ya, Ackles,” he calls.

“Friend me on Facebook,” Jensen yells back, reflexively but it feels good, and gets a thumbs up in response.

Jensen should probably head back to the locker room, too, let himself be showered with backslaps and let Morgan ruffle his hair. The stands are practically empty, now, and he can’t see a single player anywhere.

Jensen leans his head back and grins into the sky. He’s proud. Not just of himself, but of his team, too. Dan. Very, very proud of Dan.

He sighs, and that’s when his toes suddenly remind him that they’ve been cramped up and overheated for two hours now. He pulls his cleats off his aching feet, and then his socks, too, and then just stands there for a moment, staring out at the field. They did it. Somehow, _somehow_ , they actually pulled this off.

Holy shit, they did it.

“Jensen.”

Jensen looks around to see Jared striding towards him, followed by the short stocky guy in the suit he was talking to earlier.

“Jensen,” he says. “Meet Mr. Fermor.” He nods at the friendly dwarf. “Mr. Fermor is a scout,” Jared says, with a self-importance that would have made Jensen laugh any other day. “He wanted to meet you.”

Jensen shakes the offered hand, trying hard to not just keel over and die.

Jared winks at him.

“Mr. Ackles,” Mr. Fermor says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. That was very nice work out there on the field, I have to say.”

“Really?” Jensen asks faintly.

Mr. Fermor nods. “Really. It’s rare to find a midfielder so in control of his team in high school soccer.”

Jensen flushes and scuffs the toe of his cleat into the lawn. “I have a good team,” he says.

“Jared did say you were too modest for your own good,” Mr. Fermor replies.

“Jared talks too much,” Jensen says faintly.

Mr. Fermor chuckles good-naturedly, like someone who just made a good decision and is extremely pleased with himself.

Jared just rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop grinning.

Jensen shoots him a helpless look, tries to send a telepathic ‘tell me what the hell’s going on, right now,’ and the grin just gets that much wider.

“Mr. Fermor talked to me before the game,” Jared explains. “And he said he was so impressed before that he is willing to give me a chance, despite my temper.”

“Provided this kind of thing doesn’t happen again,” Mr. Fermor prompts.

“Provided this kind of thing doesn’t happen again,” Jared echoes impatiently. He’s trying not to bounce on the balls of his feet, Jensen can tell. “And it won’t. I learned my lesson.”

Fermor smiles, pleased. “I can’t promise you anything definite yet, of course,” he says, “but I can promise that I will be keeping an eye on you. So keep up the good work and who knows, we might be seeing each other again when you graduate.”

Feeling dazed, Jensen shakes the offered hand again. “Thank you, sir,” he mutters.

Jared’s smile is a good deal broader. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fermor,” he says.

“Same,” the man replies. He winks at Jensen and turns to walk away.

“Oh my God,” Jensen says faintly, as soon as the man is out of earshot.

Jared grins at him. “Right?” he asks. He bounces on the balls of his feet.

“Oh my God,” Jensen repeats.

“Right?” Jared is beaming now. And before Jensen can gather his thoughts enough to form a coherent sentence, Jared snags him under the arms and twirls him around. His maniacal laughter startles a disbelieving chuckle out of Jensen.

“Oh my fucking God,” he whispers into Jared’s ear.

“I know,” Jared tells him. He sets Jensen down on his feet but keeps his arms around him, keeps his lips right by Jensen’s ear. “I _know_.”

“I just talked to a scout barefoot,” Jensen confesses in a whisper.

Jared pulls away to look down between their bodies.

Jensen wriggles his toes.

Jared chuckles. “Only you, Jensen,” he says. “Only you, I swear.”

Jensen shrugs his shoulders. He’s going red, he can tell. “It’s a talent.”

Jared yanks him up again, twirling him around while Jensen shrieks with laughter, and when he’s finally back on solid ground, he looks up to find Mr. Fermor watching them with a genuine smile on his face.

After that, it seems like someone sped up the clock. There’s equipment to store away and clothes to pack and people to talk to, dinner and phone calls and motivational speeches and congratulations. He hardly remembers falling asleep wrapped around Jared, their limbs a tangled mess, and next thing he knows, they’re standing by the buses, bags at their feet and Jared’s hand tucked into the back pocket of Jensen’s jeans.

“You double-checked the room, right?” Jensen asks him.

Jared grins and nudges him with his shoulder. “Right before you did, you big freak,” he says fondly.

Jensen rolls his eyes, but his annoyance is short-lived. God, he can’t believe it’s all over already. Over for good this time. “This is crazy,” he says quietly.

“Tell me about it,” Jared mutters.

“Guys!” Justin calls from one of the vans. “Time to go!”

Most of the guys have already found their seats, and everyone else is cramming their bags into the overflowing trunks. They might have to ride home with their bags in their laps at this rate, but Jensen doesn’t really care.

For the first time since they started going to SCSSCs, Jared and Jensen will be riding home together. Usually this is where they part ways for the next ten months or so, only occasionally chatting at practice or when they meet in the hall, and hanging out even less than that. This time, though – this time things are different. He and Jared are taking the same bus back, for one. Even though Jared’s terrible trio of friends frowned and sneered, Jared chose Jensen over them, and that alone makes Jensen feel like he could just float away. This time, they’re holding hands in the parking lot like it’s the most natural thing in the world. They already have plans to go see the new Jason Statham movie when it comes out. Jared wants Jensen to come over and properly meet his dogs. Now that they’re family.

“Guys,” Justin repeats a bit more sharply.

Jensen nods and reaches for his bag, determined to actually get moving this time, but he still finds his gaze lingering on the enormous buildings.

“I’m gonna miss it,” Jared says.

“Yeah,” Jensen sighs. Despite everything that happened, he’s wistful about leaving. This is the beginning of the end, for him – this was the last summer soccer camp of his high school career, followed by the last Thanksgiving, the last Christmas, the last birthday. Next time he’s done with finals, he’ll be done with high school altogether.

But he can’t deny that he’s a little excited for what comes next, too. Their conversation with Fermor still replays on loop in his head, and from the way Jared sometimes spaces out and starts grinning like an idiot, Jared has the same problem.

“We should probably go,” Jensen says reluctantly.

“Hang on a second,” Jared replies.

Jensen stops with a sigh, but his exasperated “What?” gets swallowed when Jared takes his face in both hands and swoops in for a kiss. “I want you to remember this moment,” he says, all mock-serious.

Jensen snorts. “The way it could have gone, and didn’t?”

Jared smiles against his lips. “The way it did go,” he says softly. “The way it should always go.” He leans in for another kiss. “You made it,” he whispers reverently.

“We,” Jensen corrects him softly. “We made it.”

“Guys,” Justin calls again, exasperated but not irritated. He’s smiling, in fact, and so is Morgan, right before he points his clipboard at the van and mouths, “Get.”

Jensen grins at him. And then, just because he can, he reaches up and kisses Jared again.

He has no idea if this will last. Summer has always been detached from real life for him, that brief fairytale respite before the world snaps back into ‘kick Jensen when he’s down’-mode. But here, now, with Chris wolf-whistling at them and Jared laughing into his mouth, it feels different. More, maybe. Fuller. Like he’s won the cup and got the guy and cruised right on through to the happy end, and that’s the best feeling in the world.

The End


End file.
